To many of my friends “of a certain age”, Larry David is “it.” I don’t know what this says about me or my friends, but we are shameless and unapologetic in our love for this older, skinny, neurotic, bald and bespeckled man who co-created Seinfeld and wrote and starred in “Curb Your Enthusiasm”.
The very first phone conversation my now husband and I ever had involved both of our TVs with Seinfeld on mute. We spent our first “home” date entwined on a puffy orange chair watching Kramer and his intern drop a ball of oil on Jerry’s girlfriend.
The very last Poker ladies outing involved Palm Springs, a pool, scantily clad 20-something males, yet breathless banter of our collective love of Larry David. And when I broke it to the group that we faced stiff competition from the likes of Jennifer Lawrence, who declared her sexual attraction to Larry David to Vanity Fair here, it was too much to take. So unfair! It’s one thing to “fake compete” for Larry among women of our age-range and talents, but Jennifer fucking Lawrence?
So here I am, basking in the afterglow of seeing Larry on stage as the star of “Fish in the Dark”, the play he wrote, produced and directed.
I even dressed up for the occasion. Was it too much? Was I trying too hard? Did he even notice my Martin Margiela/Opening Ceremony faux fur coat, Raquel Allegra gown, Ann Demeulemeester mules, Marni bag and double Timex watches – silver set to home, gold to NYC?
In my head, I like to think that Larry thinks I looked pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty good.
Which is high praise indeed. So Jennifer, can you stop off please and leave Larry alone? He’s ours.