Oh it's Oscars day! You know what that means. Some people win, some people lose, everyone wears ritzy stuff that cost a boat-load of money. You know what else? People will cry.
They'll cry because they're happy, mostly. Crying because you're a bad loser is just poor PR, isn't it? Imagine it now, you've lost out on your Academy Award to some jumped up little porcelain-veneered, perma-tanned, simpering nobber fresh out of drama school and the camera is on YOU. You have no option but to suck back that tide of It's So Unfair hysterics, suck it in baby, and smile for the camera like you're an unmoveable mountain. It's the performance of your life. You're acting baby! You're doing it! They should give you that award just for THIS!
I don't know how those Hollywood stars do it. Even with my highly impressive grade at GCSE Drama, I can't hold back the angry tears of injustice. Sad-Tears at watching Bambi I can lock down. Pain-Tears when I stub my toe I can contain. Tears because you just took credit for my work/pushed in front of me in the bus queue/were just downright rude to that little old lady? That's when the dam bursts. I start to say the very coherent, cutting and composed thing I have in my head, find myself getting ten words in and starting to hyperventilate.
"Excuse me, I think you'll find this dear sweet old lady was simply trying to (sharp intake of breath) find her spec (hic) ta (hic) cles before you (snort) reversed your four (snort) by (snort) four over her footAHABAHHHAWAA..."(face turns purple, collapses into a puddle of snot)
I do wonder what greatness I might have achieved if I had been able to stay more composed during times of heightened crossness. I definitely have the right words to say, words that would deal a crushing blow if my voice didn't rise up three octaves halfway through my sentence, making me look about as scary as Piglet trying to argue his way out of a parking ticket. Is it a girl thing? Is it a me thing? Is it a millenia-old evolutionary device to stop me getting into punch-ups at soft play cafes? Would you hit somebody who was crying, even if it sounded a bit like they were calling you a bell-end between the sobs?
Anyway. Happy Oscars day all, whether you are an avid red carpet fan or couldn't give a taffeta shit about the plastic ponce parade. I heartily endorse Lancome for waterproof mascara, just fyi.