One of the perks of being a grizzled veteran of the arts is the preponderance of younger creatives who view me as a role model. Over the years I’ve had the honor of mentoring many people, both formally and informally. Some of these protégées and protégés occasionally contact me and acknowledge the impact I’ve had on their art lives.
At a recent art show of mine, an especially-compelling young protégée came barreling into the gallery at the very last minute. At first I mistook her for a prepubescent boy. Aside from the fact she’s tiny and walks with a fierce swagger, she wore an oversized parka and a grubby knit hat pulled down over her forehead until it grazed the tips of her eyelashes. As she strode in my direction, I realized who she was, but before I could greet her, she plunged into conversation.
“I pulled a Nancy Robinson this morning,” she said.
My chest filled with a quick breath of delight. “Really?”
“Yes, I had a problem to solve, so I asked myself ‘What would Nancy Robinson do?’”
I smiled, waiting to hear the inspirational story.
She pulled off her knit hat and proudly displayed an angry red gash extending across her brow. “I had a giant wrinkle on my forehead and wanted to get rid of it, so I vacuumed my forehead.”
I gasped. “That’s not something I’d do!”
“Yes it is.” She nodded. “One time I asked you how to get rid of wrinkles, and you said you got rid of yours by vacuuming them away.”
I definitely do not vacuum my wrinkles, and I don’t remember saying that, but it sounds like something I’d utter. You have to understand that this kid is 40 years my junior and usually presents like a dewy-eyed maiden in Springtime. I probably made the silly vacuuming joke to get her to shut up and stop complaining, because honestly she’s too young and pretty to be worrying about stuff like that. It never occurred to me that she’d take my advice seriously.
“Are you okay?” The wound looked so terrible, I wondered if I should offer to drive her to Urgent Care.
She smiled at me with a twinkle. “I’m fine.”
At that point a group of her friends walked up and started joking around with her. None of them seemed perturbed by her disfigurement, so I decided I’d overblown my concern for her well-being.
After they left, I wondered whether my advice was actually good advice masquerading as bad advice. You know, like every cloud has a silver lining.
I think I’ll text her today and ask if her wrinkles went away after her wound healed. I’ve been developing some serious furrows lately, and they make me look ancient. If vacuuming them works, maybe I’ll give it a try.
Maybe I’ve accidentally discovered a major medical breakthrough.
Maybe a humdrum household item like a vacuum cleaner could erase telltale signs of aging and eliminate the need for Botox or plastic surgery.
Maybe I’m a genius!
Maybe everyone should start taking me seriously for a change!
Or not.
