My New Best Friend Forever
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I have a list of things that I would like to do in my lifetime. Slowly but surely I am ticking things off “The List” as I progress in years. I never dreamed that I would be a guest in the audience of the famous talk show host, Oprah. Of course it was on “The List,” but it was equated to something like the advent of my teenage sons bathing every day. Everyone knows that to be a guest on a big deal talk show, you have to know someone who knows someone who can get you a ticket. Well...I know Tim P., Mr. Energizer, who knows someone who knows someone and the rest is history.

My dear friend has tickets to the afternoon taping of the Oprah show. We arrive promptly at ten o’clock to wait in line. What luck!! We are near the front of the line. However, we find to our dismay that the people in front of us are saving spots for their very dearest friends. My dear friend holds me back as I begin to grouse and complain. She is a good sport, reasoning that we would have done the same thing if we had thought of it, and if we had anyone to stand in line for us (which would require us to have friends in the area).

We enter the doors at about eleven o’clock and find that we have to practically strip down to our undies; no cameras, cell phones or guns, which I assume is the usual drill when encountering famous people. We are ushered into a holding area where we are treated to many giant photos of Oprah with other equally famous and interesting people. Someone from the Oprah staff circulates in the crowd and asks people what kinds of strange food they would be willing to eat on the show. I begin to wonder what we have gotten ourselves involved in.

After two hours of waiting, the staff begins to call groups to enter the studio. Finally our luck has turned; we are number forty-two, out of at least one hundred and fifty people. I am dismayed to find that the “important people" with high fashion outfits are called into the studio before us, where their seats are reserved. They don’t even have numbers! I begin to grumble again, and my friend wisely ignores me. The people who enter immediately before us (number forty-one) have twelve people in their group. My visions of sitting in the front row begin to fade.

I grow even more distraught when I notice that I am wearing the incorrect outfit...yikes, everyone looks like a high fashion Easter egg. I resemble the typical Birkenstock Northwest hippie with a homemade scarf, green top and jeans; I am only missing the hiking boots. The last time I can remember making an unfortunate fashion choice was when I dressed in a suede purple mini dress for a day wedding. For the record, I can assure my followers that there was a complete miscommunication on the bride’s part. However, I digress. Fortunately, my dear friend looks fabulous, so all is not lost.

We finally enter the studio to find that all of the front-row seats are taken by the Easter egg people. I curse under my breath and begin to push people out of my way in order to get to the railing on the aisle where Oprah usually walks into the studio. I congratulate myself only to have my dear friend ask me what possessed me to choose these seats. I point out the obvious fact that we will we be on television when Oprah walks in and Oprah shakes the hands of people who foist themselves over the rail. My dear friend dryly responds that my idea is a good one but we are on the rail on the wrong side of the studio. I completely lose control and bark at my dear friend for not telling me where to sit when we entered the studio.

The Oprah staff Prepper-Upper excites us to a near frenzy before Oprah enters. Oprah looks fabulous and is wearing jeans! I am wearing the right outfit after all--well the jeans anyway. I find to my surprise that my dear friend and I are privy to Oprah’s fashion faux pas. We see her rear parts every time she stands up and sits down. She has the same problem as the rest of us with curves; the low pants that are currently in style show most of one’s behind when one sits down. When I tell my spouse about Oprah’s pants problem he suggests that perhaps I should have taken a picture for the Star or the Enquirer. I point out that Oprah and I are tight, and I would never humiliate my girlfriend in such a way.

The theme of the show is “Pets and Why We Love Them” but I am too excited to take much notice. I am busy practicing all of my many facial expressions so I can be ready for my first camera shot.

After the show, Oprah begins to tape the “After-Show”; the studio audience participates in this part of the show. At one point, a woman breaks all of the rules and pleads to have her picture taken with Oprah. There is a stony silence in the audience; we would all like to have our picture taken with Oprah. What makes her so special? She said it was her birthday, a likely story. For the record, Oprah did pose for a picture with the woman.

Before I know it, our time is up and the show is over--two surreal hours of Oprah. It is absolutely on my top ten of wonderful things that I have done.

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