I was at a party at Helen Hunt's house. True story. It was a nice house. I liked her monogrammed towels. They were very soft. They were fancy Moroccan towels or something. You know, the kind only rich people have. Especially the kind rich people in show business have because their skin is all sensitive from the years of chemical exposure from the overly intensive make-up applications.
Anyway, I was in her bathroom and unless they had a security camera in there, nobody would be the wiser. She's rich, she can afford more than a few fancy-assed Moroccan goods. So, I took a towel. I stole it. I put it down my waistband and pant leg. I smuggled it out of there.
I started using it in my bathroom but it bothered me that it had her initials on it. Plus, I felt a little effeminate drying my face and hands on dandified, overly soft towels like that. So, you know, I started using it for other stuff. Less dignified stuff. I won't say what. She'll never know. She probably wonders here and there why her monogrammed towel got stolen. All her friends are rich, why do they need to steal?
I'm not a friend. I crashed that party, I wasn't invited and I'm not rich. I'm not proud of it but it's not the worst thing you can do. I just knew there'd be good food there. I was wrong though. It was just cucumber sandwiches and vegan type stuff. I got a really nice towel out of it though. I watch Helen's movies sometimes and if the character is likable, I'll be like ''I wish I hadn't stolen her towel but it's way too late to give it back now.''
*Remember: They can't do that much to you for stealing a towel or crashing a party unless you do something crazy. Just don't be crazy. Talk to people, lie and say you're in independent films or something that sounds show businesslike. Eat the cucumber sandwiches like they're good, be gracious and don't steal anything more significant than a monogrammed towel. Nobody'll care that much.
No comments:
Post a Comment