Diet Dominatrix Returns; You’re Not Erin Brokovich

After reading the subway poster, ‘Do blondes have more fun?’, Judy went running down to her favorite beauty salon and had her hair done yellow. Judy spends three nights a week-and I mean from right after dinner to bedtime-doing those little girlie things like plucking her eyebrows, polishing her nails, shampooing her hair, creaming her face.

But Judy is wasting her time … Judy’s fat.

This isn’t me talking. It’s a rant from Barbara Johns Waterston. In 1967, Ms. Waterston wrote the Mein Kampf of self-help books, Pull Yourself Together Or, How To Look Marvelous On Next To Nothing . This book is bursting with delightful bossiness, accusations and forthright solutions, and I strongly advise that you get yourself a second-hand copy on http://www.bibliofind.com.

The solution to Judy’s problem is, according to the formerly-fat Barbara, not as simple as diet and exercise. First, you must get yourself an all-consuming project-“teach yourself Spanish … collect stamps … something else to think about besides food.”

I think Barbara, though perhaps a little reckless in her choice of verbiage, might have a really good point. Look at Monica Lewinsky; the Jenny Craig diet wasn’t really working, but the minute she plunged head-long into the cut-throat world of fashion accessories (I refer to the line of handbags which she sells at Bendel’s), the pounds melted away!

Do yourself a favor and get all those toxic mercury-based fillings yanked out of your head-your saliva will taste much nicer. I spent half a day doing just that and I could not be happier with the result.

As I lay in the dentist’s chair, I whiled away the time by musing on the demise of dentures. Caps and bridges and Lee Press-On teeth would appear to have made dentures a thing of the past. Quel drag! Dentures were one of the main sources of entertainment available to me as a youngster, and I always looked forward to getting my own set. It was a rite of passage.

My favorite sport as a child was to make my ultra-tolerant mum remove hers and recite the alphabet. By the time she got to H my sister and I would be on the floor with uncontrollable hysteria. My grandfather loathed wearing his and could only be counted upon to do so for funerals. My Dad, on the other hand, wanted to wear his-but they wouldn’t stay in. If he sneezed, his gnashers would hit the floor before you could say Gesundheit . He once sneezed them across the front yard, where they landed under his oily motorbike. My sister and I consider this to be one of our most treasured childhood memories.

What are the dentures of today? Botox, breast implants? Will kids scream with laughter when mummy’s collagen slips, or if her acid-peel turns nasty? Which minor afflictions will provide the happy memories of tomorrow?

None of your colleagues will ever listen to a single word you say if you wear glittery eye shadow to the office. On the other hand, a couple of subtle smidgens of Night Fairy, the new spookily opalescent, lavender eye shadow from Francois Nars ($15), will give you the fantasy you are craving without the permanent credibility loss. Team it with Moonstruck, Francois Nars’ hauntingly opalescent lip-stick ($19).

I am deeply troubled by the fact that everybody in Manhattan-regardless of their gender, profession or socioeconomic milieu-feels obliged to fake a butch, blue-collar personality when they go to the gym. Hedge-fund managers, interior decorators, party planners, male and female-as soon as they get to that locker room they start acting as if they work on the assembly line in Detroit. It’s called false advertising, and it’s illegal.

I have always endorsed the gym

as the best place to meet people in Manhattan-but I’m having second thoughts. If you are a groovy chick hoping to snag Mr. Right, there is a very real danger that you could take home Steve McQueen only to wake up with Rip Taylor-or vice versa. Who’s Arthur and who’s Martha?

Insomnia? Paint your bedroom a very dark color indeed. It’s soothing. It’s luxurious. It’s hedonistic. Six months ago, I painted our bedroom Witching Hour gray by Pratt & Lambert. It’s the richest, sludgiest color imaginable and guarantees that every night we sink into a black hole of corpse-like slumber.

Other colors to consider: Pratt & Lambert has an even darker color called Obsidian; Ralph Lauren has a superb selection of gloomy paints at Janovic Plaza-choose from Scorpion, Magistrate Black, Harness Black and Seaweed.

F.Y.I.: Painting the room yourself may well result in improved self-esteem.

Diet Dominatrix Returns; You’re Not Erin Brokovich