In light of recent events, here is the glorious Monica Bellucci, and some thoughts. Maybe in sharing these, I will put to rest some demons of my own. Some facts. I am a mother of 3. I am not Demi Moore. I do not have a personal trainer in my basement 24/7. Nor do I have a nutritionist on standby. I do have good common sense. Like knowing that if I exercise and eat less I will maintain a good, healthy weight. But like most women, every day I fight a war with the mirror. In the past I have suffered from very unhealthy eating patterns. Disorders. Cliché as it is, women and girls all round the world, right now, are “dying to be thin”. Literally. The sad news of yet another model dying last week, should be, but will not be, a wake up call to women everywhere. And yes, the age-old cry of the absolutely fabulous, “you can never be too rich or too thin” is a lie. In the past couple of months 2 models have died because they were simply too thin. Thinking one can exist on diet soda and lettuce, is not really thinking at all. What happened to the hourglass figure? Where have all the Marilyns gone? The same girl consuming 0 calories a day is the same girl wearing the pin up girl t-shirts, and cinching their waists with big belts, trying desperately to create curves. Why not just have curves? Women are women after all, not men. What is wrong with being 5’ 7” and a size 8? This I ask myself everyday, and yet still, I wonder what it’s like to be the size 2s I see on the rack. Do those girls have a better life than me? I seriously doubt it. Are they happier than me? Probably not. After all, I get to eat a few slices of pizza now and again, and not spend the next hour in the bathroom, wasting time amongst other things. I get to experience the scientifically proven mood enhancing chocolate, and the “good for your heart” red wine… without working out like a mad woman in order to get rid of those extra, unwanted calories. After all these years of being miserable on a diet, trying to be something, in all likelihood, I won’t ever be, I can now try to be content with who and what I am. Which, according to my husband is just about perfect.

With Thanksgiving less than a week away, I thought I should offer up a festive cooking tip. Domestic goddess, Nigella Lawson, knows the best way to roast the big bird is breast down. Suits you sir. And, as it turns out, suits the bird too. I am yet to get a dry turkey breast. And, for your enjoyment, here is the yummy mummy at her finest.

In school I studied Toulouse-Lautrec, and long before seeing the girls in his Moulin Rouge works, I yearned to be on stage. To work in theatre darling! I wanted to be the high kicker, with feathers in my hair and on my tail! There’s just something about a fishnet-clad thigh that makes a girl think that she too, can be that girl. Hands on hips, smile a mile wide, center stage – yes, that will be me. My newest adventure, here in the big smoke is, drum roll - I want to be a Rockette. I have set my goal. I have my plan, my dreams, that’s all anyone needs. When I was a little girl I would watch old films with my Grandmother; the musical “42nd Street” was a favorite. For those who have never seen the original 1930s film, you simply must. Here’s the deal: Unknown chorus girl steps in, to play lead in musical, and shines. I remember just before she takes the stage the director utters, "You're going out there a kid, but you've got to come back a star!" As I head towards my 29th year I realize that I walk around in an adult's body, feeling 5 years old most of the time. I act out things that adults do, but that’s all it ever feels like, an act, sometimes not even a good one. But, I learn, I become wiser. That’s all being an adult is, being wiser, not about gaining years, more about gaining knowledge. So there it is. I don’t want to be a star; I want to experience being a star. And maybe I’ll grow wiser in the process. And until the time comes for me to take high kicking center stage, I continue to rehearse this thing called life. And I can always look like a star until then, with the new line from OPI!. Maybe a feather in my hair on New Year's Eve. Fishnets for day - not a problem. So tap class here I come!

"Come and meet those dancing feet on the avenue I'm taking you to...Forty-Second Street."