Tragedy is today’s daily food. Shouting not chatting. To learn when couples actually engage in normal everyday conversation, I did a survey. Is it at breakfast?
A driver: “Breakfast? Who has time to talk? My only interest is coffee. I got to work. The wife’s got to get to work. Weekends we food shop. That’s when we talk. It’s enough.”
A techie: “Breakfast? I should engage in chat? That’s when I take Charlie out.” Who’s Charlie? “Our dog. Who should I take out at 7 in the morning to poop? My wife?”
Lady accountant: “Small child, train to catch and an au pair to instruct is no time for big talking. I’m busy stuffing my kid with Wheatena not asking why my husband came home late the night before. Also he drinks soy milk and if we’re out of it he’s set for a divorce. No moment to discuss Hamas.”
Also clouding conversation — devices.
Trying to focus on a face when the person’s only facing his palm?
Learned was that the choice is either looking at a shloompy housecoat or a blond anchor mispronouncing news. Either burnt toast or a teenage female with long hair and fake eyelashes discussing terrorists in Eyeran.
Dropped again
Socialite Tracey Hejailan-Amon, once in a hit-and-run ugly divorce, claimed her billionaire Swiss husband began it after secreting their $25 million in art. She just got hit again. Also, unexpected. A moped. Third Avenue. He did not stop. She’s in the hospital. Her leg broken in two places.
Perfecting the sash ’n’ grab job
R’Bonney Gabriel. The current Miss Universe.
“Friends call me Arby. A made-up name. My father is Arban. I lived in Houston, graduated college, was at a photo shoot modeling, when a lady into pageants tried recruiting me. I blew her off. But she persisted.
“So I entered a small local contest, won runner-up then competed for Miss Texas, then Miss USA. First, it’s terrifying. Fear of the unknown. I needed a grant to get wardrobe, lessons to learn makeup. It was a lot.
“Immediately you win Miss Universe, confetti comes down. You walk, wave, pose, face the press, finally get to bed 4 a.m. Next morning a plane to the New York apartment every Miss Universe lived in.”
One story. Pre NY Post, I was assistant to the president of Miss Universe owned then by lingerie company Kayser-Roth. I organized celebrity judges, plus nations from which we telecast. Once, in Puerto Rico, judges included designer Arnold Scaasi, who had dressed Jackie Kennedy, and there was actress Lynn Redgrave, whose luggage then went lost. Scaasi instantly wrapped a hotel bedsheet around Lynn and fastened it with my jewelry.
Miss Universe: “One thing I’d like changed is the contest’s requirement. I competed at age 28, their maximum age. They’ve just extended that for which I’m grateful.”
OK, and what’s soon-to-be ex Miss Universe going to do next? “Now a fashion designer, I’ll continue looking after my clothing brand. So, stay in New York City. Find an apartment.”
Among my so-called fan mail letters came this one:
“I’m married to the same woman 15 years and it’s starting to go dull. I know her every move before she makes it.” So I answered: “Look, pal, if she still moves — don’t complain.”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York?