Thursday, August 07, 2008

Florence of Arabia in Fire Island...


It's been days and I am STILL absolutely exhausted! Why, oh, why did I leave my fabulous (featured in Architectural Digest) oceanfront mansion and go to The Pines on Fire Island? Well, for one thing, I was invited to an only slightly less fabulous (not featured in Architectural Digest) oceanfront mansion for luncheon with other members of the fabulous fashion community. One can surmise my fatigue level from my overuse of the word "fabulous."

In ANY event, the luncheon was tasty (if vegan), the host was très célèbre, as were most of the guests, and the gossip was even tastier than the food. Mostly about Aubrey O'Day and Linda Hearst, and that sort of thing.

Luncheon over, some of the guests went downstairs for a nap, some went upstairs for casual unprotected sex, but yours truly did the wrong thing:

I went for a stroll. To Cherry Grove.

For those of you who don't know this (as I did not), Cherry Grove is about 300 miles away from the Pines on foot, if only ten feet by private yacht. And of course stilleto heels were hardly the right attire for a rickety wooden boardwalk. However, I still had the slightest of hangovers from the Dior Beauty party in Easthampton the night before. Tinsley Mortimer was there, in a lovely green Dior gown, with Topper, and we were all terribly tactful about the failure of her reality show.

The problem is, dear Ms. Mortimer has no discernible personality, so the crew filmed for days and was left with nothing but footage of a blonde stick figure applying makeup over over.

Rather like "Groundhog Day," but pointless.

ANYWAY, back to my misguided Adventure. As always, I was covered in veils and sunblock, with my assistant walking the mandatory ten paces behind me. We walked and walked and walked...what was astonishing was the terrible condition of the boardwalks between the multi-million houses. It wove up and down, up and down. It was ENDLESS! Thank God I had left Bucky the Wonderdog back at my fabulous (featured in Architectural Digest) oceanfront mansion!

We passed one house with a flyer for a show in Cherry Grove, featuring a singer whose quote was "Show stopping lesbian!" Pondering what made the difference between an ordinary lesbian and a show-stopping lesbian at least made the time pass.

Soon, the unthinkable happened:

I started to perspire.

"Cool me off! I am perishing from the heat!" I snapped to my assistant. She simply stood there gaping at me, sweat streaming down her face. The idiot had not thought to bring a thermos of cocktails! I whipped back and continued to walk, and soon the boardwalk ended, at the edge of a FOREST, of all things. A handsome young nearly naked man was jogging towards me, and I hailed him with a cry of despair: "WHERE IS CHERRY GROVE?"

"Oh, honey, you follow the trees with the yellow paint on them." He pointed from where he had come, the deep forest, lined with a green algae-covered swamp. No one loves nature more than moi, but at a safe distance. My shoes! My pedicure! We staggered through the woods, where I had to repeatedly duck under branches and occasionally step over coupling males, and came out into...

a desert. The sun beat down upon me, and my assistant gasped like a snapper on a hot wooden dock. The sand was far too hot to take off my shoes (my assistant took hers off, little fool, and started to howl with pain. It gave me a certain satisfaction, given my overheated, soaking state. I prayed I would not see anyone I knew!). Like a beautiful Lawrence of Arabia, I made my way across the desert under the baking sun, and then there came the Sign:

CHERRY GROVE (with an arrow)!

We made it into town, where I was able to slake my thirst with a frozen margarita. (My assistant chose pink lemonade--pah!)

That is why you have not heard from me...the sunburn alone had me prostrated. My beautiful skin, scalded! I have been applying aloe vera by the handful. It has not been so much the physical pain, as much as the emotional torture of looking in the mirror and seeing a lobster-red face and chest looking back. I shall not be seen in public again until it has faded.

Later, dahlings -

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

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