Attention: The Oprah.

I have only three dreams in this life. The first is to see a book on a Barnes & Noble bookshelf with my name on it. (And not because I took a Sharpie and wrote my name on it.)

The second is to have barrels full of money hidden in my back yard.

And the third is to be interviewed by The Oprah, which will make dreams one and two a reality overnight.

I have come to the realization that The Oprah isn't going to show up on my doorstep and ask if I have a minute to become famous. Nope. The Oprah is far too busy and far too important to drop everything and knock on my front door with fame in a fashionable tote bag.

Thank God, too. With my luck, she'd arrive on one of those Midol days when I'm wearing Mr. Man's mismatched pajamas and no make-up. America doesn't want to hear The Oprah tell me to go brush my teeth. That's precisely why I don't enter the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes. They are sneaky little van driving people who would have no problem broadcasting live as I received my oversized check wearing just my panties and a raggedy old t-shirt that reads, "Party like it's 1999".

In the interest of helping The Oprah decide to wave her magic "O" wand and make me famous, I've compiled a top ten list of reasons she should have me on her show. I'm taking The Oprah by the horns, so to speak. Should you have some Harpo contacts, feel free to pass this right along to her people.

10. Although I have no formal training whatsoever, I am quite the accomplished river dancer. A prodigy is what I am. A savant, even. This artistic ability makes me a most well-rounded guest. If the conversation lulls, I can simply break into dance. Perhaps I could even teach The Oprah the basics. I can only teach her the mechanics of the art form however, because you either have the gift of river dance or you don't.

9. Just like The Oprah, I was born a poor, black child in the south. Ok. I wasn't so much a black child as a white child, but I was still poor in the south. That counts, right?

8. My best friend's name is also Gail. Well, actually her legal name is Roberta, but I can blackmail her into changing her name to Gail. Roberta has lived a shady life so this won't be a problem.

7. The Oprah and I can discuss at length our love of fitness and our daily work out routines. I'm a firm believer in the Moon Pie work out and am happy to introduce it to the world. I won't get into the details here, but it involves putting on sweat pants and eating microwave-melted Moonpies accompanied by a Diet Dr. Pepper. It's very rigorous.

6. I have no problem selling out my entire family and every friend I've ever had. If it amuses The Oprah, I will happily tell every single dirty secret they have ever told me. (NOTE: If I don't blog in the next few days, please alert the authorities as there is a good chance one of my friends or family members may have me bumped off.)

5. I am more than willing to dye my hair to match The Oprah's shoes. Or her chairs. Or her puppy dog's collar.

4. It so happens I am one of those desperate housewives everyone is so fond of these days. In fact, there are few housewives as desperate. I know it's trendy to have an affair with my much younger gardener or the occasional tryst with my pool boy, so I am currently accepting applications for these positions. FYI, only manly men need apply as I was in my plastic pool yesterday and there are any number of dead floatie bugs in there.

3. I will happily pretend to be a woman who loves men who hate her, or a woman with an addiction to shoplifting cat toys, or even a woman who is in the Guinness Book of World Records for the number of times she's been married. (OK...I guess I won't have to pretend about one of those things.)

2. If it makes The Oprah happy and gets me on her show, I will legally change my name to, "Oprah Should Be Queen". You can call me by my nickname though: "Suck Up".

1. I know how The Oprah enjoys a good, "I accidentally got drunk and drove over someone" story accompanied by soft weeping. If it becomes absolutely necessary, I will get sloshing, rip roaring liquored and drive around town until I run into a bus load of nuns or better yet, a bus load of nuns with puppies. I will be arrested and my mug shot... which will make me look like Nick Nolte, will be plastered all over the news.

Alright, that's a total lie. But as I have some less than ethical friends in the police department, maybe I can talk them into arresting me and pretending that I did it. They've been itching for a reason to get me in cuffs anyway. (That, my friends, is a whole other story.)


Copyright © 2004, Sherri Bailey
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