A slice of (diet) humble pie.

I know that since the passing law (oh how I miss the days of being revered) we're not supposed to attract attention. Yet we all know we each succumb at times (Nike more than anyone). And we play by the rule (or bend it) even when we act out: we don't win (Nike), we don't get rich (Midas), we don't win American Idol (Apollo), we don't zap people with lightning (Dad). But, on occasion, we test our skills.

Today I walked into Elite Modeling Agency. I couldn't help it. On my lunch break, I was sauntering along Fifth Avenue, enjoying the adoring gazes of businessmen in their sharp suits and the occasional tasty rickshaw runner covered in sweat (who couldn't take his eyes off me and ran into a cab -- luckily his carriage was empty) when I noticed a young woman almost as beautiful as I step out of a fancy office building.

Granted, I didn't actually notice her -- I noticed my admirers' attention turn (monetarily) away and followed their gazes.

That's when I saw where she had come out of.

Now, like I said, I really don't do this often. But, I walked in. I got past the receptionist, joined the bevy of semi-attarctive ladies in line for an open call, but never made it in to the go-see!

Can you imagine! Me, the most attractive female in history (screw Paris, screw Helen, screw that whole, rigged, competition!).

The past-her-prime junior agent opened the door for me, looked me up and down, and turned to her flouncy boss inside the showroom. He took in my golden hair, pouty lips, strong shoulders, toned-but-feminine-arms, supple breasts, cinched waist, curvy hips. I sensed his hesitation -- sensed, still don't comprehend! -- and pirouetted, showing off what most consider to be my best "ass"ests -- my tush and legs, thighs taught and calves in high relief above my gilded 3-inch (vintage) Monolos.

I posed, hand on hip, giving him my most popular winning smile.

and.

the boss.

shook his head.

"no."

I couldn't believe it!

Humble pie is fine, we've all come to accept a slice from time to time, but I'm on a diet!

No explanation was given and after a few minutes of (in retrospect, embarassing) pleading, I skulked out the door.

Let me tell you, Elite is lucky I'm bound to behave like a mortal. They. Are Lucky.

By then I was late for work -- as soon as I took my away message off, the phone started ringing off the hook.

"Good afternoon, Wilhelmina Modeling Agency, this is Ditty. How may I direct your call?"

Sigh.