Not so much the ‘Joy of Oprah’ more the I want to be Oprah bloody Winfrey seriously I do. The world listens to this woman, including myself.
I on the other hand am a woman in my 50’s who still has trouble getting my two sons to listen to me at all. Never mind anyone else.
They’ve grown up with me watching Oprah, shur they thought it was great that I had a friend on the telly. But she wasn’t my friend, she was some rich awl wan on another continent who was filthy rich. Who didn’t have to clean house or cook several meals a day, because of fussy boys. She had people, people to tend to her every need. I too had people they were male and short and I tended to their every need. Bit of a difference.
She may have been very different to me every conceivable way but I paid attention to her musings and uttering. It didn’t matter to me who she interviewed or what she said I was enthralled.
I was gripped I watched her every day, shur lookit I was at home with two young boys the only sensible person to make an appearance in my home every afternoon was Oprah.
I wanted to be on the Oprah Winfrey Show, but there was nothing wrong with me. Nothing terrible had befallen me. I was sure she’d draw the line at a mother from Dublin wittering on about her boys on the telly or how difficult it was to get puke stains out of linen.
A makeover I thought to myself, I could apply to the show and they’d fly me out to Chicago, first class of course, put me up in the Marriott and give makeover. New hair, new clothes new attitude.
Nope, the application form said U.S. Citizens only need apply. Well obviously Americans needed make overs too, while I stayed at home and watched from a distance.
A book I could write book, shur lookit I can talk for Ireland why not write a book. So like a good troll I checked out the books she promoted in her Book Club thingee.
Shur what class of a book could I send into Oprah, stories I’d jotted down for my boys over the years, ‘The ‘Cow that Couldn’t Count’ that took me a whole five minutes. Or there was always the stories I wrote about our springer Spaniel ‘Ben’ and how he chased all the fairies out of our back garden because they were deafened by his farts and almost drowned in his saliva. They’re boys, they loved all that sort of thing, but somehow it wasn’t going to make the Oprah book club. I needed something profound that would reach into your heart. A numeral challenged cow or a farting dog wouldn’t cut it in the Book Club.
So I abandoned the idea of ever getting to Chicago to meet Oprah or chat about my life experiences. So every afternoon we watched. We were allowed into the world of ‘perri menopause’ which youngest son thought was some sort of dessert. He’s nineteen and I still don’t think he knows what it means.
Oprah introduced us to ‘The Secret’ and we would play the ‘The secret’ game. We’d arrive in carparks and try to find the best parking space by thinking positively. If we got a space close to a door they would cheer and declare that ‘The secret’ worked.
‘Ring Oprah and tell her it worked’ youngest son instructed.
‘I’m on it sweetheart, I’ll call her when we get home’
So Oprah prepared me for menopause and some of it’s secrets. She showed me how to walk in stilettos and she introduced me Martha Stewart .. so as well as an Oprah phase I also had an Martha Stewart thing going on.
Over the years Oprah guided me through various phases of my life. But Oprah will be remembered in our house not only for the introduction of the secret to my sons but simply because any time the ‘Says Who’ question was shot at me my response was for years ‘Sez bleedin Oprah that’s who’
Eldest son could never understand why I watched her daily because she was a black woman from Chicago what did she know about life in Dublin.
But sometimes a rich awl wan a continent away can brighten up a day and leave a little inspiration in your life.
Fortunately for Oprah she’ll never know the joy of a farting springer or the story of a cow in a field in county Meath that couldn’t count.
But that’s ok too..
She taught me how to work on myself how to react to others she taught me to think like an American, which is not a bad thing.
The truth is I want to be Oprah.
I want people to bring me food.
I too want people to bring me shoes.
I too want to chat with the common folk, oh dear nearly forgot myself there, I am very definitely ‘the common folk’
The Joy of Oprah
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