Beautiful People

“I wanted a different life. I didn’t want to live in the suburbs. I didn’t want to be a wife or a PTA mom. I just had bigger aspirations.” -Jessica Alba, Jane Magazine, October 2005

There’s a reason that magazines like In Touch and People are on the stands instead of In Touch with Reality and People Like Us.

Frankly, most people don’t consider the lives of “PTA moms,” as Jessica Alba put it, to be all that interesting.

After all, our designer wear is pretty much limited to whatever Isaac Mizrahi is peddling at Target. Rather than pricy gift bags of complimentary jewelry, electronic gadgets and week-long stays at The Golden Door, our swag consists of a few samples of Oil of Olay and a packet of laundry detergent. And the only strangers taking our pictures generally send us a copy with a speeding ticket enclosed.

It’s not what you’d call a glamorous life.

So when I got an opportunity to join a bevy of Beautiful People at a party last night, you can bet I jumped at the chance to trade in my drool-stained duds for something slinky and chic. For a few hours anyway, I was going to be One of Them.

The event was a swanky Lexus party, hosted by MTV Real Worlder MJ. Not bad for a Monday night in my town. But before I could go, I had to pick up the girls from school and get dinner on the table.

I should’ve been spending the hours before the party taking a bubble bath and doing my nails. Instead, I dashed up and down the stairs in various stages of undress, cooking dinner, fixing my hair, vacuuming the den, playing with the baby, choosing an outfit, mediating a telephone argument between my stepdaughters, and doing my makeup. My husband laughed when he arrived home to find me sitting on the floor in a little black dress, emptying the vacuum filter.

Finally, Hubs and I left, arriving at the cavernous party locale to find a sizeable crowd of 20-somethings drinking Red Bull martinis, a DJ playing Gwen Stefani, and the ubiquitous MJ working the crowd. It looked like most of the partygoers were there solely to try and win the attention of the ex-reality “star.” Here and there on the floor of the club were various Lexus sedans, forlorn and forgotten. It was a safe bet that most of the Beautiful People at the party couldn’t afford a Lexus for at least the next ten years. But the cars certainly seemed like a good place to put empty martini glasses.

Hubs and I mingled for a few minutes, then grabbed a table and watched the crowd.

Hmm. Up close, many of the Beautiful People weren’t so beautiful after all.

A few of the women were wearing gauchos. Ick. A young man had shellacked his hair into a permanent resemblance of a cartoon character who’d had the pants scared off of him. Ugh. And then there was the girl in the puffy fur coat, fur-lined boots and diamond studded fedora. No. No, no, no, no, no.

Thank God my little black dress never went out of style. Besides, I happened to know that this season, black is the new black.

I sat up a bit straighter. I could still compete with this crowd.

Hubs got up to go to the bathroom. As he walked away, a man came to my table. Uh oh.

He raised his plastic cup of Coors Light in a toast. Nervously, I raised my martini glass in response.

“You’re damn pretty,” he said.

“Thanks,” I replied.

And before I had time to worry that Hubs would knock his block off when he returned, the man walked away and melted back into the crowd.

It was weird. But I didn’t care. My charade was working. I was one of the Beautiful People.

Or at least the Damn Pretty People.

I spent most of today in a Yo La Tengo t-shirt and men’s pajama bottoms, makeupless, ratty haired, and suffering from a cold. I didn’t exercise. I didn’t do much of anything, to be honest. Sickness’ll do that to you.

But it was okay. I’d had a night to remember. A night I would’ve taken for granted five years ago, but one I desperately needed after two-and-a-half years of pregnancy, nursing, mothering and stepmothering.

Even so, it’s become pretty obvious to me that up close, my life has plenty of beauty, much more than it did when I was single and self-absorbed.

From reading the blogs of so many wonderful moms and moms-to-be, I’d say the same is true for you, too.

So on this Thanksgiving holiday, I raise my martini glass to all of you. I think you’re all damn pretty, too.

And I hope you know you can compete with the best of the Beautifuls.