My Point...And I Do Have One

he’ll be a Spanish conquistador or a Chinese emperor and I’ll pretend to be a peasant girl from the village who’s hungry and he invites me into the palace for a cup of soup. Then he asks me if I want to use his washroom to bathe, and I do and then at 3 P.M . I’ll watch
Oprah
. After that, I’ll write a letter to
People
magazine or
US
magazine to compliment or protest some story they wrote about Johnny Depp or Madonna or somebody.
    Okay, that brings me to around six o’clock when I go pick up the kids from day care. Not my kids; I drive a van for the neighborhood moms who are busy. Then I’ll be home in time for
Wheel of Fortune
and a hot meal: maybe lasagna or pasta with a creamy pesto sauce or some vegetarian burritos.
    From 8:30–9:30 Quaw will do some exotic dancing in the disco for me and some of my close friends. Then we will talk and visit and finally head on into the den to the big-screen TV to watch either Jerry Springer, CNN, or whatever is on my outdoor security camera. Around midnight my friends mosey out of my house, I take a couple of Excedrin PMs and a glass of Diet Sprite, and call it a day.
    Though my typical day is nothing out of the ordinary, I must begrudgingly admit that being a celebrity does carry with it some pretty cool perks. I’d like to list for you now some benefits of being a celebrity.
    “Hey,” you might now be interjecting, “I don’t have to read the rest of this—I already am a celebrity.” Well let’s make sure you know what the term
celebrity
means. A celebrity is a well-known famous person who is easily recognized. If you are a person who has chosen not to have sex, you’re not a celebrity—you’re celibate. Now, I’m sure there are many benefits to being celibate, though the only two that spring to my mind are: one, you probably become better at other things, like, for instance the Jumble or remembering
Star Trek
trivia; and two, I would imagine you don’t have to change your sheets quite so often. But that’s not what I care to talk about right now.
    Here then are some advantages of being a celebrity.
    When you’re a celebrity you tend to get special treatment. For instance, I was at the Sizzler yesterday and a woman who worked there came up to me and told me that I could eat all the shrimp I wanted. I heard her say it to a lot of other people, too—which goes to prove one thing: A lot of celebrities eat at the Sizzler.
    At the Gap they have a special changing cubicle just for celebrities—it’s just like all the others except it has a star on the door and a bowl of fruit inside. Also, you’re not limited to three items, you can bring in four.
    When a celebrity plays Scrabble, the letters Q and Z are worth twenty points and not ten, the celebrity is allowed to see her opponents’ tiles, and whatever a celebrity says is a word is a word (e.g., ZQWXJEM). This may lead to some arguments with your noncelebrity friends, but don’t let that worry you. Another benefit to being a celebrity is that you get to win every argument you’re in.
    In every election, whether it’s local, state, or national, a celebrity’s vote is counted twice.
    One of the major benefits of being a celebrity is that more people know how to pronounce your name correctly. That may not sound like much, but when you have a name like DeGeneres, believe you me, that counts for plenty. An added plus is that more people know how to pronounce my brother’s name as well.
    The National Board of Health says that celebrities are allowed to eat five eggs a week and not four. If you win a People’s Choice Award you’re allowed fifteen eggs a week.
    Celebrities get free HBO for a week once or twice a year. I know this happens for me; I’m guessing it happens for other celebrities, too.
    Though it might be considered pretentious in others, it is never showy for a celebrity to have an entourage. I personally don’t go anywhere without an entourage of fifteen to thirty-five people complimenting me incessantly and laughing loudly at all of my jokes. Though it gets kind of crowded when I go into one of those little booths to have my passport picture taken, I find that it’s worth the inconvenience. Among the members of my entourage (or if you prefer retinue or gang) are: Stumpy, my personal trainer; Lupé, my sheep herder (I keep her around in case I ever decide to purchase some sheep or even just one sheep); Pantry, the woman who brushes my teeth; Todd, my food taster (I’m sorry, Todd was