On César Chavez, looking the part, and housewives desperadas

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Hola, Eva… soy Lola. Remember? I met you at the César Chávez Foundation dinner here in Phoenix last month. I just wanted to congratulate you, one more time, on receiving the award. You said not everyone can be famous but everyone can be great. You are both…

Anyway, Eva, that dress you were wearing was gorgeous and I must confess that I was trying hard not to notice things I shouldn’t have been paying attention to, like your big-ass diamond ring; which, by the way,  I secretly envy, but my activist self disapproves of – blood diamonds, remember? I’m sure your hubby got you a certified, exploit-free one.

I’m sorry if you caught me staring at your dinner plate, too. Was that tofu or fish you were eating? You got me thinking about portion control, and then you got on stage and of course your perfect “Barbie Mariposa” figure prevented most of us from even considering dessert. Oh, Eva, and then when you showed a clip of your upcoming documentary and reminded us that 25 percent of the food we eat is harvested by children, the guilt trip hit me even harder … so now not even a salad.

Tell me, were those platform stilettos you were wearing Manolo Blahniks? I’m not big into “salon shoes,” OK maybe if a had 10 pairs of them I would and wouldn’t feel guilty if they got scuffed; I’d be like Posh Spice – Victoria Beckham wearing killer 12-inch stilettos while sunbathing in my backyard.

The truth is when I get home I hurry to get my chanclas, I go hug the kids, and then I get dinner ready. I’ve stopped outsourcing household chores.

Tell me, how are your fellow desperate amas de casa? I mean, are famous folk being hit hard by the crisis like the rest of us? Some of my comadres are desperate; being a housewife is a luxury they can no longer afford. I’m sure their husbands remind them of that very often. And to add insult to injury, now that they are job hunting their résumés have huge gaps that don’t look good to a hiring committee. You know, from the time when maternity leave became a permanent leave and the “mommy and me” Gymboree experience took precedent over dreams of crushing the glass ceiling. What an awakening!

Ay qué horror. I’m glad that’s not my case, or yours. But I’ll tell you, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep up looking somewhat presentable (despite my age) I mean. I keep getting sticker shock; highlights $450 every eight weeks; botox, $890 every six months;  dry cleaning $180 per month; juviderm filler, $620 every four months; pedi & mani $80 a month; teeth whitening strips, $42 per month; toning yoga sessions $175 a month; I have long foregone the cleaning service and the  family membership to the gym, and I’m already saving a lot by switching to Avon anti-aging creams. I mean who can speculate to afford all this? I’m grateful I don’t have to do the tanning booths like my ultra white sisters.

Bueno, Eva. Call me next time you are in town; I know of a place with the best tofu in Arizona. Hey, and tell your producers if they ever need extras for your show, I have 10 comadres who look the part and are totally desperate to get back in the job market.



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