OK, I'm a dork but

I can’t wait for the ball. This year, Delta Hotel got promoted so we get to sit at the grown-up table. Last year, and every ball before (including my own enlisted balls) has been spent at the kid table. That's not so bad when you're a kid and have yet to find a pucker across your youthful abdomen, never mind the rogue shar pei belly that the birthing of children heaps upon you thanklessly.

Last year, I was having a rather uninspiring conversation with this gorgeous young girlfriend of one of Delta Hotel's friends when we discovered that we were wearing the same pair of shoes. "When you're just starting out, it's hard to afford shoes like these," she said. "I'm sure you remember...not that you're old or anything," she gushed. So, I did what any self-respecting, youthfully challenged, utterly chagrined woman would do. I went back to the kid table and drank my old ass eighteen again. Mind you, drunk eighteen is only charming on an eighteen year old. By the time Delta Hotel dragged me, the last woman standing, out of that ball I had heckled the Sergeant Major, contributed to the underage drinking of a Japanese girl on a student visa, gushed the same three lines to the hot leutenant for fifteen minutes straight IN FRONT OF HIS WIFE, and would have flashed the DJ for a free copy of "Lady Killers", except for the fact that my bodice was all but polyurethened to my chest. (Not for lack of trying, I got the movie anyway. AND a cup.) Now that I think about it, I'm surprised Delta Hotel is bringing me back to the ball.

The point is, this year will be different. Must not be matronly old drunk cow this year. So, I've been following this diet. It's not the coolest diet out there. But I hadn't planned on telling anyone, just magically becoming young and hot again. But, I made the mistake of forgetting to put the book away. There it was on the kitchen table when CeBe W. came to pick up Jay. Before I could throw my body upon it, grenade style, CeBe W. had already placed a single index finger on the cover. One dark brow raised as my cool points floated out the window like steam from a fresh apple pie.

"What," she said, with cultured disdain, "Is this?"

And so now I admit it. I bare my soul before you all. My name is DiDi, and I am addicted to Denise Austin.

And so, thusly, the humiliation for the '05 ball season begins. Let the good times roll!