My Nancy Reagan Story

Every Sunday night in the early 1990's, a group of Hollywood types in their 70 and 80s gathered for dinner at a venerable Italian restaurant in Westwood. There was a former network television executive, an Academy Award Winning movie producer, a longtime PR man for R&B singers, maybe a wife or a girlfriend, and me, a struggling writer in his 20s. The host was a manager/producer/impressario, in his 80s, in a wheelchair. His claim to fame was having produced what many critics argue is one of the worst movies ever made. His son, an entertainment lawyer, my entertainment lawyer, introduced us. The old man took an immediate liking to me, and invited me to these dinners. The #1 table on a Sunday at this restaurant was a big deal. To get it, we agreed to be in at 6, and out at 7:45. The typical dinner conversation was as expected from men of this age: prostates and prostitutes, deals that fell through, and ones they hoped to close but never actually will. The restaurant was still quite the popular hangout for old time Hollywood. On any Sunday we'd see Dean Martin in a corner eating alone. Or Clint Eastwood with his agents. Or Steve Lawrence and Edie Gourmet. One Sunday there we were, all 7 of us, crowded in the booth eating our entres. The talk of the table was about some friend who'd just had a stroke. With my head down, concentrating on my Veal a la Jerry Vale, the conversation abruptly stopped. When I look up, Nancy Reagan was just standing at the table, staring at me. She said hello, asked me my name, and how my meal was. "And are you enjoying your evening?" To which I lied and said yes. I asked her what she ate and she told me. And then she thanked me, said goodbye, and walked off to the front door. "Did you fuck her?" the old man joked. And everyone just went back to their meals as if it had never happened. Every once in a while I wonder what in the actual hell. Was she drunk? Did she somehow think she knew me? Or maybe was she lonely, saw me, and for reasons I'll never know, just wanted to say hi. I also often wonder what might have happened had I been a gentleman and walked her to her car. Would we have perhaps become friendly, maybe an occasional lunch. In that moment in that restaurant, on that Sunday night, Nancy Reagan, whether she intended to or not, gave me this story. submitted by /u/thelongslog [link] [comments]

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So my wife’s going to a gala tonight — as her client’s “date.”

I’m 44 and my wife is 44. She works on an art advisory committee, so attending galas, events, and client meetings is part of her job. She often meets clients for coffee, lunch, or dinner, and I don’t always know the details and that’s completely normal because it’s part of her work. She’s always professional, transparent about her friendships, and I trust her judgment completely. Recently, she mentioned she’s going to a gala with a friend, S. He’s a wealthy client she met about a year ago, and they became friends professionally. She introduced me to him once, and he seems like a genuinely good person. He invited her as his “date” to this gala, and my wife said it’s fine. I did ask her though, if she’s actually going as a “date,” and she just laughed and said, “Date doesn’t always mean romantic.” She said it’s important for her she could get networking and meet new people. Then she smiled and said, “If I get into this gala next time, I won’t need to take that man with me, I’ll take you...

The time I quit my job mid shift and walked out

Eight years ago I was working a customer service job that already had me burned out but one day my boss screamed at me in front of customers over something that wasn’t even my fault. Something in me just snapped. I took off my apron handed it to him and said “I’m done” Then I walked straight out the door and never looked back. Didn’t even go back for my final paycheck. It sounds impulsive but it was one of the most freeing empowering things I’ve ever done. Up until that moment I thought I had to just take it and that quitting mid shift was “unprofessional” But honestly that day taught me there’s a line between being dedicated and being disrespected. I was playing apex earlier and thought about how that single decision changed my whole mindset about self worth. It’s wild how one moment of courage can stick with you for nearly a decade. Still one of the best choices I’ve ever made.

I made my breast reconstruction surgeon cry with laughter

After the long process of a double mastectomy, I finally got my permanent breast implants in, and was very happy with them. As a bonus, I discovered that since they were put directly on top of my chest muscles, I could do a neat trick! I can “twerk” my breasts one at a time or together, making them dance quite vigorously! I went for my checkup and said, Hey Doc, look what I can do now…and showed off their bouncy dancing skills. He literally dropped his chart and bent over laughing until tears came into his eyes. He said I was the first patient to do that to him, and he couldn’t stop laughing the rest of the visit. I encourage other patients of this type of surgery to try it, it’s quite fun and entertaining. Edit: thanks for the kind comments and award, guess I can say I won an award for bouncing my boobies now. Note: for those who say video or it didn't happen, I get it, but I'm not going to post my boobs all over the internet!

Bimql chhetry.

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