Believe it or not, I went to modeling school (aka charm school.)
I don’t think I’m their best endorsement, but it’s true nonetheless!
My parents decided to send me because at the time I was ‘blossoming into womanhood’ we lived in a less than sophisticated area.
Plus I was at the age where I no longer listened to or believed anything they told me.
So my mother thought if I learned the ‘social graces’ from strangers I’d be more amenable.
I had a totally different reason for going.
I was going to be the next Twiggy! (For those of you reading this who don’t understand that reference, Google it! She was HOT!)
So every Saturday I gave up hanging out with my friends to schlep into the ‘city’ and learn from strangers how to be a proper young lady.
I learned how to put on makeup with a tongue depressor. (I never wore any after that!)
I learned how to walk through a door properly. (Who knew there was a right and a wrong way to walk through a door? I always figured if you got to the other side you were doing it right!)
I learned to fence. You know, thrust and parry alá Errol Flynn.
I learned how to walk like a model, stand like a model, turn and sit like a model. (For which my aching back is forever grateful! snort!)
There were lessons in manners and deportment.
How to properly introduce people to each other. (Here again I thought if you just told them each other’s name it was all good. Apparently not! There is a pecking order!)
I learned that my purse had to always match my shoes.
I learned that properly brought up young ladies AT ALL TIMES wore gloves in public. (C’mon! This was the sixties! Who the bleep wore gloves anymore?)
The last three classes were ballroom dancing classes. The ONE lesson that maybe, possibly, might have had at least a remote chance of being relevant and I missed them because we moved!
I’m here to tell you that NONE of what I learned was ever any help whatsoever in my real life.
AND I never got to be the next Twiggy!