I hate it when my ideas get stolen by cool Brit filmmakers.
Guy Ritchie has made a short film for H& M to help plug his buddy David Beckham’s Bodywear line.
I swear. It’s my story.
What a pity it remains in my memory bank. No one knows. Except Jim.
My kid had just left for the school bus but forgotten her lunch.
I plunked my feet into boots and opened the door quickly. I didn’t have time to tie the laces.
My dressing gown was tied, firmly I presumed.
Stepping out, I called out after her, lunch in hand, and tripped on the landing over my own lace.
Plunging forward, just a tad, something slipped.
I grasped my belt, glancing around sheepishly. It was early. Sidewalk was empty. A miracle. Cars were in a hurry. No one caught it.
Except Jim. My next door neighbour and his wife Esther were cordial types. Peter and I knew them a little and what we knew was lovely.
Jim was reaching down for the newspaper at the moment I looked up, clutching my cleavage. Our eyes met and the movie reel that plays in my head have his eyebrows raised to the heavens. I think he grinned. But I didn’t see it, diving as I did back into our front hall. It was a beautiful move of grace and precision. Inside, I briefly considered striding back out and waving proudly, in my very own “Own the Podium” moment. My face was Canadian red.
I could have run. Now that’s a movie.
David Beckham, thanks for bringing my story to life.