Every day at four o'clock I stop whatever
it is I am doing to watch my favorite SOAP OPERA. I take the
phone off the hook, lock the door, sit with a cup of freshly
brewed coffee and escape. It has become an addiction. One that
I like having.
Almost every time I do this, I am astounded
at how much better the lives of these people are than mine. There
are some basic facts, Ladies and Gentlemen, that apply only to
soap opera people, the women in particular.
The women in soap operas are always
extraordinarily beautiful. The women in soap operas do not walk
across a room, they glide. The women in soap operas are never
without a man for more than three hours at a stretch. That is,
if their story book relationship is about to break up, you can
always be assured that there is another Adonis waiting just around
the scene. The women in soap operas never do laundry, clean toilet
bowls or vacuum. The women is soap operas never have a single
hair out of place or a nail chipped.
I remember one scene in particular that exemplified this because
it paralleled the same situation in my life. I was at the airport
saying goodbye to my friend. A young lady on the soap opera was
at the airport saying goodbye to her lover.
I will never forget how she looked.
One perfectly shaped tear glistened down her luminously made
up face. The wind blew through her shining blonde hair. (I wondered
at the time where the wind came from in the middle of the airport).
A Beethoven symphony was playing in the background and dozens
of beautiful white casablanca lilies cascaded around her from
out of the sky (there must have been a hole in the airport roof),
as her lover took her hand in his and kissed it tenderly.
In my scenario, there was considerably
more than one tear. My face was not luminous, it was wet. It
did not glisten, it was too drenched in mascara and pancake make
up to glisten too much. The only music I recall was a strange
looking fellow 's sony walkman blasting something less than romantic
in the background. I particularly remember this because it drowned
out the sound of whatever my friend was saying to me at the time.
I have a strong suspicion it was goodbye, but I will never really
know for sure.
Human beings behave differently on
soap operas. Have you ever watched people go swimming on a soap
opera. The women arrive at the pool in gold laminated dresses
enveloping their tiny bikinis that match the gold flecks in their
eyes. The men, I am sure arrive straight from their previous
employment with Playgirl magazine. If either party actually does
manage to get wet, you can be assured that as they emerge out
of the water, their hair suddenly parts perfectly down the middle
of their forehead, miraculously, similar to the parting of the
red sea. The men's bodies glisten with oils. Somehow a little
man with an oil can must have been down there at the bottom of
the pool. Many times, I have waited beside my pool (such as it
is) hoping some man, any man, would emerge, tanned and oiled
like that, all to no avail.
And have you ever noticed what it is
like being sick on a soap opera. It almost makes you want to
run out and collect as many germs as you can find, just so you
can get admitted to those wonderful places of recuperation. Terminal
patients never look terminal on a soap. They look lovely. They
lie in their perfectly made up Wamsutta down beds while being
attended to by physicians that look remarkably like Robert Redford
and Tom Cruise.
And most of them seem to have sudden
and astounding recoveries. Of course, with doctors like those,
who could blame them. Even the dead on soap operas look wonderful.
If I really must go someday, please God, let it be on a soap.
I would love the world to remember me that way.
Let's face it. The people on soaps
do not attend to everyday realities. I do not recall even one
soap opera person ever having to go the the john. I have given
this much thought and have decided that they just don't have
to do that sort of thing. They go to the powder room, (it's much
more civilized) to check that nothing is amiss, although God
knows why, they couldn't possibly be improved upon.
People in soap operas don't cook much
either. Rarely have I seen anyone sweating over a hot stove.
They hardly eat. That must be why they all remain so svelte.
When they do feel the need to indulge, well, you can be assured
it will be at their favorite local dining establishment. Probably
a place called "The Escargot Room" where they are greeted
by a very distinguished frenchman named Pierre, taken to their
private table, where of course their usual red roses, waterford
crystal and candlelight awaits them. All of these details go
without saying. They are often the only ones in the restaurant,
so there is always plenty of room on the immaculately marbled
dance floor.
It is here of course where the man,
handsomely dressed in his tuxedo, whispers the most incredibly
romantic things in the woman's ear. Things such as, "Darling,
you touch my soul with your eyes." I ask you, my friends,
when was the last time your man said that to you?
Oh, and if it just happens to be a
special occasion such as an engagement, then a trio of violinists
or a mini orchestra suddenly appears on the scene and the lady
is presented with a diamond ring, I am sure, borrowed from Elizabeth
Taylor's collection, while sipping on her Dom Perignon.
As of late, it has also occurred to
me that people on soap operas never seem to pay bills, floss
their teeth or change their kid's diapers. And you know something,
I wouldn't have it any other way. If I wanted to watch that,
I wouldn't have to turn on the TV. You can keep your reality.
Give me Fantasy!
At least for one hour every day at four o'clock.
Veronica Hay is an author and publisher.
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