Buffy Wilson WC:270

Buffy Wilson

What was I thinking, agreeing to something like this?

I was busy working on my classic 1967 Camaro, getting ready for the Carlsbad Car Show. My wife, a professional photographer, came into the garage and started making small talk, or so I thought. I wanted to tell her to go away but didn’t dare; I just wanted to be left alone, to work on my Camaro.

I wasn’t listening to anything she said.

“So, what do you think, Charles?” she said.

I had that deer-in-the-headlights stare and had to think quickly.

"That sounds like a plan,” is what came out of my mouth.

The plan was scheduled for the same weekend as the car show. Well, there’s always next year, I guess.
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She jabbered on about it for the next two weeks. Did I listen? No, but I wish I had. I did catch something about a photoshoot, but that was about it.

So here I am, in the dressing room of the local theater. I have just pulled on my pantyhose and am slipping into my dress. My wife helped me with my makeup and hair. I glance in the mirror; I don’t look too bad.

She is doing the photoshoot for a magazine writing an article on Bosom Buddies, the TV series. I will be portraying Buffy Wilson, the Tom Hanks character, since they can’t afford him.

“They are ready for you on set, Buffy,” my wife says, unable to suppress a giggle.”

“It’s showtime,” I say as I sashay onto the stage, my face as red as a beet.

It pays to listen, folks. Pays to listen.