Beloved gay friend John is back from vacation, and I feel like my oxygen tank has been refilled. I get home and have many funny stories to share with my family, courtesy of John and they drink it up because it’s been very Gedrosian in his absence.
“So then, John hung out with this woman and she had a boyfriend that she described as, get this, a janitor and a model. Can you believe?” I am wiping away tears, because I am chopping an onion while regaling everyone with stories. I multitask.
And then Husbandrinka sticks his nose in and says, “Why is that funny?”
Here we go.
Not only does Husbandrinka refuse to be annoyed by obviously annoying things, now he refuses to see humor in obviously hysterical things. To spite me and to make me insane.
“Because those career choices don’t seem to go together,” I tell him.
“Why? Maybe he needs the money.”
“Yes, of course he needs the money. But it’s not like he’s a waiter and a writer.
He’s a model. And modeling is one of those things that you either are or are not.”
“You could be an out of work model, or a struggling model,” suddenly Husbandrinka is the Voice of the Oppressed Model.
“Struggling model?” I sneer. “If you don’t get money to be photographed, you’re not a model, you’re just good looking, ok?” Clearly, I have standards.
And since we’re on this whole topic of models, I must object to calling Kathy Ireland a supermodel. The original supermodels, the big six are Cindy Crawford, Linda Evangelista, Christy Turlington and Naomi Campbell, Kate Moss and Claudia Schiffer. How do you think it makes them feel when they watch Dancing with the Stars and hear Kathy Ireland referred to as a supermodel? (By the way, I don’t watch DWTS, it’s too high-energy for me, but I’m assuming that they refer to Kathy as a supermodel.) And please don’t go all “but Marinka, you called her a supermodel.” I did it for pageviews.