Has Anyone Ever Told You…?

The answer when someone asks me “you know who you look like?” is one of three women:
When I’m being ditzy and flirty it’s Drew Barrymore.
When I’m being loud and brash it’s Kristen Johnston
And when I’m just standing around being taller than everyone else it’s Laura Prepon.

Granted when we were both redheads and she was on a hit TV show I used to get the latter way more often. But even now that we’ve gone over to the blonde-side, every once and awhile I still get “has anyone ever told you that you look like the chick from That 70’s Show?” And the answer is yes, yes I’ve been told that before.



And I can’t say that I disagree entirely. She’s like the prettier, skinnier, more stylish version of myself I always dreamed was possible. She’s who I would have become if I’d been given my own television show, trainer and stylist upon moving to Hollywood. Ever since That 70’s Show premiered I’ve had a thing for Laura Prepon. I imagined what it would be like if I ran into her in the bathroom, we’d be washing our hands next to each other and slowly turn to meet a near-mirror image of ourselves. I imagined us becoming best friends and we’d stand at the edges of parties drinking jackn’cokes out of keg cups and making fun of everyone. I imagined she’d get the producers of That 70’s Show to cast me as her weirdo cousin, and I’d probably get my own spinoff and she’d come guest star every once and awhile.

Almost one out of three ain’t bad.

Yesterday, while attempting to remove the unbelievable amount of mascara-colored sleep that had accumulated in the corners of my eyes, I heard the outer bathroom door squeak open and I spun over to the paper towel dispenser because no one wants to be caught looking at herself in a public bathroom mirror because that’s just vain. As I dried my hands, a tall figure in a flowy peach dress pushed through the interior door. It was…HER. Laura Prepon adjusted one of her long blond waves in the mirror (she has no problem looking in the mirror when someone else is around, so add “more well-adjusted” to the list of traits she has on me), and smoothed down the front of her dress. I hung my head and walked out of the bathroom. Maybe if we were anywhere else besides the bathroom I would have been able to say something. Maybe if we were in the hallway outside of the bathroom I would have been able to ask her if her friends ever tell her that she looks like me (my mom’s idea, which I will totally steal if given the opportunity again). But no, we were in the bathroom. And if there’s a room where you shouldn’t fawn over a celebrity, regardless of whether or not she may be your doppelganger, it would be the bathroom.

But it’s comforting to know that when my doppelganger cross paths, the universe doesn’t collapse in on itself.

Maybe there’s still hope for my weirdo cousin spin-off.

gretch