This post is going to make my mother’s day.
So I’m less than 24 hours away from my arrival in Chicago, and even though I’m sore from my 4-mile run and there’s a chance of snow on Monday, I’m stoked.
But there is one thing I’m worried about. See, I’ve never been to Chicago before. I have, however, seen Victor Victoria many many many times. And I’m just not sure how long I can go without breaking out into song à la Lesley Ann Warren.
My mom used to make me watch this movie all the time. Which is kind of weird, given the fact that my parents were extremely strict about what movies I could and could not watch (for example, my mom decided I was not allowed to watch Fried Green Tomatoes after I’d already seen it three or four times–side note how is Mary Louise Parker still so hot? And what did my mom have against killing and barbecuing an abusive husband?)
But it looks like this movie was rated PG, and I guess that explains why I’ve always been comfortable with nontraditional gender roles (and my upcoming Halloween costume, but you’ll have to wait for that). Though I do have to admit that I was pretty confused by the idea of a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman–why would people want to see a man dressed as a woman, I would ask my 8-year-old self. And why is someone named Toddy. And how could anyone possibly mistake Julie Andrews for a man?
But I understood the music of the movie, and I still love singing Le Jazz Hot to myself. My mom and I used to sing along with that part in the movie. And all I ever wanted to do was wear that head piece and pull it off at the end like Victor does.
Forget Chicago, I’ve already said too much. Watch the videos and hearken back to the halcyon days when bikini waxes were apparently not de rigueur.