My brilliant CP Stephanie Kuehnert and I were talking about Grease and which characters we wanted to be. Steph identified with Rizzo, the tough-talkin’ broad with a golden heart. When I was five, I wanted to be Sandy, post-makeover. Never mind the fact my parents would never let me wear a black lycra cat suit then (that I did much later in life–and only once).
Who did you want to be? Frenchy, the dithering lost soul? Kenickie, who knew only two things: girls and cars? Danny, who could dance, sing, and pollute waterways simply by washing his oil-slicked hair? Sandy, before she turned from wholesome hick into a chain-smoking vamp?
(Okay, I’ll admit it–I wanted to be good Sandy just as much as I wanted to be bad Sandy. And if you’re ever in a karaoke bar with me, you’d better pray Hopelessly Devoted to You isn’t on the playlist.)