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Around 6 p.m. I mute the TV (Ryan Seacrest and god forbid Joan Rivers grate my last nerve) and settle in to watch the Red Carpet Live pre-shows. Seriously, it's the only time I get a free pass to act like a catty, celebrity-stalking, fashion-whore. Oh, and I watch because I appreciate the fine arts of acting and movie-making, as well.
{ahem}
Sunday night I was a horrible mommy and turned on the Golden Globes pre-show during dinner. I didn't want to miss a dress, gem, hairdo, snippet of gossip, or (could we be so lucky?) trip and fall.
Then Kiddo started getting into the show. And commenting.
The outrageously gorgeous and perfectly curved Salma Hayek floated across the red carpet in a stunning Gucci gown. I assumed the Hubby's eyes would be on her. I was not prepared for the 8-year-old's to be as well.
"I like that dress. I think you'd look *damn* good in that dress, Mommy."
I nearly snarfed my chardonnay.
Instead of scolding him for his unacceptable language, I gave him a Nutty Buddy.
I may not win Mom of the Year (like I was even in the running),
but my kid's going to make a brilliant husband someday...
Because this is what I *really* look like.
