Surely Booth

I am disappointed that I gained back the seven pounds I lost earlier this year, even though I deserved to gain them back through my own deliciously bad habits.

This is the reality of disappointments. Sometimes we cause them, even though we think they appear on their own.

Like the whole bridesmaid thing. You know, as in “Always a…”  

I’ve almost learned to accept that about myself; that, when it comes to my career, I’m often thisclose to being the bride. But is my not-quite-acceptance a sign that it’s my own damn fault, and that I should simply try harder?

Bridesmaid, ugh. Seven pounds of excess Wendy-flesh crammed into that ugly pink dress with the big bow in the back. Which is probably OK, as long as it hides the excess Wendy-flesh.

See? A silver lining! Not that I’ve ever seen an ugly pink dress with a silver lining, but I bet Vera Wang will steal my idea and make millions off it.

This was supposed to be an update about my weekend of selling myself, and not bitching about my second-place finishes and stuck zippers and mandatory foundation undergarments.

Manning a booth is difficult. Even with a mannequin to help.

Graciela and me, being whimsical in my booth. She is wearing a vintage bowling shirt, like my character in I MURDERED THE PTA, and a '50s hat with faux bees on it, in honor of I MURDERED THE SPELLING BEE. I am wearing a black lace '70s top and a plaid '60s skirt, and my hair is pulled back in a pink flower headband that was way too tight, especially after seven hours, which may explain why I'm blurry.

I spent two seven-hour days in my booth at the Women Today Expo in Ventura. Met lots of super-nice people, including many who read my newspaper opinion column and like it. I don’t know if there were any folks at the expo who read my column and don’t like it. They didn’t visit my booth. Could’ve been because of Graciela—who freaked out a few people—or my six-foot-four-inch husband, who was also there, and is very handsome, but very protective of me. You should’ve seen him at a poker tourney a few years ago, when I was at the final table and a drunk guy was heckling me. Yeah, it’s good to have a bodyguard. A tall, scary bodyguard. My husband. Not Graciela.

Anyway, I’m not sure I’m cut out for this salesmanship thing. I’m proficient at social networking, and I’m a good speaker and have fun with my talks, but fourteen hours of Selling Wendy was tough, particularly in heels.

I don’t know how bestselling authors do it, but I suspect once you get to a certain point, you don’t have to.

That does it. Seriously. It's time for me to finally be the bride.