Walken the Line

I am not cute enough for Christopher Walken. Right now, at least. Ordinarily I think I am not only cute enough for Christopher Walken, but maybe even too cute for Christopher Walken. Like, if (when!) he were to meet me, he’d think, “You know? We would make a great couple, you and I, but your cuteness might detract way too much from my strangeness, and I do not know if that is something I would be willing to risk.”
But today? Not cute enough. Not only am I not showered (yet!) (don’t worry, I shower a couple of times a week, and today is one of those days!), but I am not elegantly dressed. And I have a feeling Christopher Walken would prefer if I were dressed in something a bit more refined than black cargo pants, tissue-thin gray pullover “hoodie” (that word must always be contained within quotation marks, because I refuse to condone its use as a real word) with white ribbed tank underneath, and these boots (in black). And if my hair were freshly washed and ironed. And if I wasn’t preoccupied with folding the laundry, that as we speak, is getting increasingly wrinkled as it lays crumpled in my blue wheelie cart, awaiting folding. (Most of the laundry is sheets, though, which are hardly accustomed to “folding”. Yes, the top sheet and pillowcases are done properly, but that pesky bottom sheet … no dice. Any attempts to fold a bottom sheet into something even marginally resembling a four-cornered packet are met with raised-eyebrow skepticism, a more than fair amount of derision, and the rationalization that “Life is too short to waste on folding bottom sheets.”)
So, anyway. Christopher Walken. If you are out there, please know that I do love you, and I do want to see you. And one day, we will meet. But this morning, I am not cute enough for you, and I sincerely hope you understand that this is the only reason why I am not waiting for you to exit ABC Studios at 67th and Columbus after your appearance on “Live With Regis and Kelly”. Perhaps if you are in the area for another hour or so, you would like to stroll into Ann Taylor at 69th and Broadway, where I will be paying my bill. I may still be dressed in the ensemble I describe above, but my hair will be fresh, and I will allow you to pick out a skirt you’d like to see me in, and I will model it for you. Okay?