-Perdone, señorita, ¿no le han dicho nunca que es igualita a Dudley Moore?
-¿Quién?- digo para mí, pero entienden mi rostro.
-Dudley Moore, el actor de Hollywood. ¿No podría ser su hermana? -le pregunta a la otra, que está completamente de acuerdo. Yo no tengo la más mínima de quién es el tipo, pero sospecho que no es de mis favoritos, y que es un poco raro (but very funny, según ellas). La curiosidad me pica y la rubia alta me escribe el nombre en una tarjeta de la tienda. El pincel que he comprado, eso sí, es de la mejor calidad. Hago una búsqueda en Internet y he aquí el tipo. Lo reconozco en seguida.
-¿Cómo se le puede decir a alguien algo así?-Bueno, chica, yo veo el parecido. Cuando he tenido una mala noche y estoy un poco demacrada, lo veo. Se lo cuento a unas compañeras del trabajo que me salió en el verano y se mean de la risa. Parece que ellas sí conocen al actor. Ven más cine de audiencia.
-¿Llevabas el pelo como ahora?-Más o menos.
-Pues por eso es.
-Pues por eso será.
The day I was compared to Dudley Moore (2002 or 2003)
It is getting warmer and brighter outside and tons of men on bicycles are springing in the streets. My grandma died last Monday, an hour after I called her from my friend Carmen’s. That would explain why my brother was not as talkative as usual that day. And I was fooling around in a frenzy at the other side of the pond. I feel guilty, almost.
What a bitch, that Air France hostess at the airport; she made me check an extra suitcase, with the corresponding extra $100, and on top she had me transfer clothes from one suitcase to another, as if that was going to change the total weight of my luggage, so I had to expose my underwear and uncanny thingies in the middle of the airport, as well as dragging my black pants on the floor prior to starting my transatlantic flight. Not to mention having to carry my new laptop as a purse. I finally managed to force it into the squarish plush handbag (exactly the same color and texture than my brother's stuffed bear) to kind of protect it during the flight. And everything that was in that bag, I transferred to the bag containing the blanket in the airplane. Such was my carry on luggage’ incongruence, that placed me in a strange class between the bag-lady and the executive.
At the airport I still made an attempt, plush shoulder bag crossing my chest and my arm grabbing the laptop, to buy a carrying case for the laptop. But all I got to buy was an eyeliner brush that cost 16 dollars (Had I gone mad?). And the inhabitants of the little make up store were weird beings. A man, which is the last thing you expect to see in a Body Shop, much less in a more sophisticated store at Logan Airpot. A woman that resembled the blonde in Absolutely Fabulous (British accent included) assisted me at the cashier. Another shorter older woman, who resembled George Constanza's mother, but closer to his fiancée’s doll and with eyebrows like the ones Elaine draw on Uncle Leo. She approaches and tells me with a strange accent:
—Excuse me, lady, have you ever been told that you look just like Dudley Moore?
—What? —I said to myself, but I guess my face translated right away.
—Dudley Moore, the Hollywood actor, couldn’t she be his sister? —she asks the other woman, who totally agrees.
I don’t have the faintest idea who the guy is, but I suspect he is not one of my favorites, and he's kind of weird (but very funny, according to them). It piques my curiosity and the tall blonde writes his name down on a business card. The brush I bought I am completely satisfied with, though—top quality. I do an internet search and here is the guy. I recognize him immediately.
—How could they tell you something like that? —says my best friend.
—Well girl, I can see the resemblance. When I’ve had a bad night and I'm looking gaunt, I can see it.
I tell the story to some coworkers at the job I had in the summer and they are rolling with laughter. They definitely knew the actor. They see more commercial films, apparently.
—¿Did you have this same haircut?
—More or less.
—Well, sure that’s why.
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