I Never Slept With Jack Kennedy
So this woman named Mimi has written a book about her affair with Jack Kennedy. You can imagine my discomfort upon hearing this announcement. I didn’t get the memo that February was Mimi-Confessionals-Month. After all, I just started this blog in January. How exposed do you expect me to be so early in our relationship? Had I realized that February was going to be our month to tell secrets-of-absolutely-no-consequence-to-anyone, I might have waited until March to start this exercise. This is gonna be tough.
Advertising secrets is tricky (it’s also an oxymoron, but I digress) – you have to choose one that is sensational enough for people to consider it titillating, yet innocuous enough that you can melt back into your life within a couple of minutes. How funny it sounded to me when I heard Mimi say on The Today Show, that she was coming forward now, because “secrets eventually come out”. Sure – they come out if you open your mouth, sweetheart. My hunch is that there are more than a few women and men in history who proffered favors upon our Presidents and we will never know who they are or were, and more to the point, who they did.
Anyway, I’m not trying to shirk my responsibility here. I recognize that as a Mimi I too must stand up in concert with my fellow Mimsters and disclose something really big. Here we go world…big inhalation of breath, cue the violins, please.
My name is Mimi and I’m an accessory slut. I have not made a purchase in eleven months. This is my first public admission of my dalliances with handbag, shoe and jewelry counters from Needless Markup to Nordstrom’s, Louis Vuitton to La Bottega. I swear I never meant for this to happen. I suppose there were early signs that I would grab the delicious red suede glove of Satan the Sartorial. When my mom, sister and I would go shopping at Loehmann’s or Klein’s, I gravitated to the sequins and sparkles, while they would be craving a muted tweed. “Ach, Mimi that’s terrible..come schatzi, look at this classic herringbone..” Sigh…
I started small when I received my first bonus. “Get something for yourself”, my husband said. “Reward yourself – you deserve it”. And so the spiral began with a magnificent ring made for me by my sister-in-law. I found that every outfit looked better with the right accessory. In fact, you didn’t need to shop for anything requiring disrobing if you headed straight for the accoutrements. One handbag a year? Ha – one handbag per season, easy. Yes – I confess I own a pair of Laboutins and a pair of Jimmy Choos. Of course, neither pair can be worn for more than ten minutes without crippling me. Talk about karma. Obviously, things were getting out of control. Why would I buy an accessory that would hurt me? It’s one thing to buy something you’re going to enjoy. This was ridiculous. I had more earrings than I had lobes – or piercings. I was working like a dog, at least I should outfit myself like a designer one. Those were desperate times – but I looked good. And where am I today? Still trying to clean out my closet.
Why tell you this now? Honestly, I couldn’t think of anything more exciting in my history for my contribution to February-Tell-All-Month. And I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you anything that could hurt another person in the process. Which is why I’m a little annoyed with my fellow Mimi. I understand the need to unburden one’s soul – that’s why there are best friends, priests, rabbis, swamis, shrinks. I don’t understand the need to sensationalize a secret in the name of doing the right thing. Don’t ask me to believe that the only recourse for a haunted adolescent conscience is to write a book detailing events from a lifetime ago. I’m not judging the events themselves; I’m judging the value of the “sell all”. And now that I have disclosed my secret to the world, I feel justified to assert the following – “Mimi, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”