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I had a lot of hair.
That said, I wasn’t sure how to get out of it.
As mentioned, I didn’t have any plans that night, which would be strike one according to my family, since not only was I not dating, I wasn’t seeing anyone. Or better, engaged. Or the best, giving up “that parasitic hobby” and spending my time dusting, making dinner and producing babies for my husband.
In other words, I was already losing before I even showed at dinner.
And using work as an excuse to get out of it…
Well, one could just say that I’d rather spend three hours fielding questions about how I’m “putting myself out there” than dealing with the response of sharing I was too busy with work to show.
In other words, strike two would be the fact I still was engaged in “that parasitic hobby.” That being my “Elsa’s Exchange, Celebrity News and Interviews” channel.
Did it count for them I had over thirty million followers?
No.
Did it count for them that I was currently assessing three…I’ll repeatthreeseven-figure…and I’ll repeat again,seven-figureoffers to stream on a major platform?
No.
Okay, to be fair, by “for them” I meant Mom, my brother Oskar and my sister Emilie. Dad got a kick out of my show. He didn’t say that often in front of Mom, but he found his ways to make it known to me.
But Mom’s censure made up for Dad’s acceptance.
Nugget of news: it always had.
Strike three would be…
Well, everything else about me.
Since the only real excuses I had were work, and that would be unacceptable, or I already had plans with girlfriends, which would also be unacceptable (for Mom, family trumped friends, even if my brother and I weren’t close, didn’t really get along and never did, ditto with my sister, and then some with my mother). Further, my girlfriends weren’t popular with Mom. They were too ambitious. Too independent. Too modern.
I mean, seriously, Mom was from one of the most progressive countries in the world, and she moved to one of the most liberal cities in the world.
And yet.
Thank God Dad found his ways to balance her out.
Though, how long that would last, I didn’t know. And that same thought had been rattling around in my head for ages.
Since I could remember, the strain in their marriage was like a fourth child. I’d ridden a wave of lowkey guilt also since I could remember, hoping they’d break up, and Dad would get custody of me and only me.
Not my momma’s-best-boy older brother, not my perfect-last-child sister.
Only me.
Alas, that had not happened.
Still, lowkey, one hung on to the hope.
The other million things on my mind started with those offers my agent was assessing and ended with my work mobile being clogged with texts and emails of celebrity sightings, scuttlebutt, and notices of pictures I needed to bid on.
So I had all of that to get through, and I needed to glamorize myself because we were taping a segment that morning. Something I intended to write before I left home but decided to stick to my guns and keep work and home life separate. So instead, I was going to get into it at my office at the studio.
It was seven in the morning. With what I had to get through, I’d be lucky to leave by seven that night.
At least now I had the money to hire an assistant, something I’d done.
