I’m a fourteen-year-old, should-be starlet, with a reflection that rudely disagrees. I mean, seriously, with a name like Lola Love you’d think I’d have an access all areas, VIP insta-pass to the fabulous world of silver screen fabulousness, wouldn’t you? Turns out, not so much. I’m a fourteen-year-old, should-be starlet, with a reflection that rudely disagrees.
Y’see, there are a number of factors standing in the way of my life being a glitter-globe snow-shaker of absolute fabulousity.
These are just a few of the reasons why my name is not currently flashing neon…
1. I don’t have a movie-girl-esque complexion
Starlets have flawless skin.
I do not.
In fact, the only remotely star-like thing about my face right now is that the entire constellation of Orion is very clearly visible on my entire left cheek.
2. I’m awkward looking
Like, really awkward looking Movie stars are picture perfect. I am not. My eyes aren’t symmetrical. No matter how many times my mum tells me I’m making it up, if you look really closely, you can clearly see that my left eye is slightly higher than the right. That’s wrong.
I have freckles that are sometimes visible and sometimes not. They decide.
I have mousy brown hair that never, ever does what it should. It just hangs around my shoulders, all limp and uninterested, like the arm of a super-cute boy who doesn’t actually want to be there.
(Sadly, I am not basing the above statement on my own extensive experience of super-cute boys.
Why is that you ask?
Because I have absolutely no experience with super-cute boys, that’s why.
Yep, you heard me. None. Zilcho. Nothing. Nada. Nuchos.)
Oh wait, there was this one time, it was last September. A super-cute, messy-haired skater boy rode past me in town. He missed his footing and nearly toppled over so, I put my arm out to save him. He didn’t topple, he mumbled something that resembled ‘thanks’, normal life resumed.
Yep, we most deffo shared, what they call in the movies, ‘a moment’.
What’s that?
An ‘accidental, almost arm-brush’ does not a moment make?
That’s rude.
I do however, have A LOT of experience watching movies that include super-cute boys, and FYI, my hair is VERY representative of the uninterested kind.
3. I have a chubby tummy.
I want to live in the olden days, because in the olden days, it was cool to have curves.
For example, Marilyn Monroe, one of my total movie-girl idols, had curves.
Real, woman-like curves.
I also have curves, but apparently, according to the people without curves, curves are no longer cool.
I think this is really rather rude considering I have a bit of a chubby tummy that my mother keeps insisting is puppy fat. It is not. I am just not a stick insect. Fact.
And, as if all that really wasn’t enough for one girl in the world, I’m stuck in Dullsville, the wrong side of Happytown, on my own.
My BFF Angel has been totally kidnapped by her parentals and is on vacay in Europe. Apparently, it’s not enough that my best bud in the entire world is packed off to a super-posh boarding school during term-time, it seems her parentals think it’s more than do-able to kidnap take her away for the entire summer holidays too.
Rude.
And if all that wasn’t bad enough, my aunt Tallullah–uber glam, goddess-like lady, the one person who actually gets me, as in really, really gets me–has gone and moved to my most favourite place in all of the world.
New York City.
I know.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased for her.
(No, really I am. Grr.)
Aunt Tallullah, my lovely Lullah, has an ah-mazing new job that involves her getting all schmoozy woozy with actor-types on a daily basis.
I know.
My aunt is an on-set designer-girl for TV and movies.
I mean, seriously, what’s not to love about that?
And I’m not talking just C-list wannabee actor-types, nope, I’m talking the headline grabbing, pap-toting, turn-up-late-to-work-just-because-I-can A-lister variety.
I know.
But the thing is, with her being all the way over there in Schmooze Ccity, well, it means she’s not here. And here, without lovely Lullah, is like having the hugest, most dee-licious, slice of gooey chocolate cake without lashings and lashings of whipped cream.
Pointless.
Things I love Some facts about lovely Lullah:
She’s totally fabulous.
She’s my idol-girl.
She sometimes looks like she’s walked out of 1940s Paris–ooh la la.
She sometimes works monochrome like a 1960s mod girl.
She’s a superhero-girl. Think younger, red-headed sister of Wonder Woman. Although, unlike aforementioned superhero, Lullah would never discard her handbag when changing costume. Evah.
She’s a palm reader.
She smells like candyfloss and jasmine incense.
She gave me a journal to track all my hopes and dreams.
She sprinkles her vocab with crazy made-up words from her favourite films. She’ll say things like, ‘sweetie, that’s simply de-lovely’ or ‘Lola, this chocolate cake s’wonderful, s’marvellous.’
She’s a bright ray of sunshine on a dark, cloudy day.
‘Til recently, Lullah was studying all things fashion and film, her two favourite things, at a fancy-schmancy university in the city of Londinium. To save pennies, she shunned the bright lights of the big city and stayed here with us, in dreary old Dullsville-by-Sea, commuting into the Londinium when she had to do the study stuff.
And she did a lot of the study stuff–that’s why she’s got the schmoozy woozy job of fabulousness–but she was never, ever too busy to hang out with li’l ol’ me.
I loved it best when I’d arrive home from school and instead of finding an empty house I’d find a lovely Lullah sat on the kitchen table–literally, either sewing buttons to a £2 chazza shop bargain or sketching a foofy hoop skirt and flowery décolletage in her notebook.
Lullah just gets it.
She doesn’t care what people think of her, not one little bit and dispenses guru-like advice in every sentence. Like, when we go chazza shoppin’ she’ll say ‘vintage clothes are better than new ones because they have history.’
But what I loved best was that, unlike my mum, she was a superhero-girl. And as a superhero-girl with superhero-girl powers, she was able to sense a major-league sucky event in Lola world at 100 kitten-heeled paces.
At the first sign of trouble, she would throw me the double wink and I knew what I had to do.
In a one swift movement that even ol’ slinky-milinky Catwoman couldn’t have found fault with, I would crack open a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream, grab two spoons and put Breakfast at Tiffany’s in the DVD player. And together, we would make a Lola