Not too long ago, my dear friend Gretchen sent me the book Marrying George Clooney, on the surface, the author sounds a lot like me – “Along with fantasizing about marrying George Clooney, Ferris is faced with a plethora of other insomnia-induced thoughts and activities. From googling old boyfriends to researching obscure and fatal diseases on the web.” Aside from the disappointment that this was not a guide to get George to marry me, the author dedicated one small chapter to her marriage to George, I was very disappointed. The book itself was funny, a good, quick read, but it barely satisfied my need to be close to George.
My chapter on George would not end in stillbirth, a coma and divorce as hers had, I didn’t wait all my life for him for it to end in tragedy! If I were to marry George Clooney, I imagine that my family would be abducted by aliens, really the only socially acceptable way for me to be free for George, and I would find myself in a trattoria overlooking Lake Como. George would enter, see me sitting alone and approach the bar. He would then tip his head in my direction as an unasked question to the bartender.
“She’s been here alone every night this week, she orders a salad, the calamari and two glasses of wine.”
“Has she had her second yet?”, asks George.
“I’ll take it to her.”
George approaches my table and asks if he can join me, “I took the liberty of buying you a drink.”
He then introduces himself as George, I laugh, “Are you a celebrity impersonator, you look an awful lot like George Clooney. No offense, but he is much better looking.”
He laughs, “I’ve heard that before, I wish I looked as good as I look. I am George Clooney.”
After some back and forth banter about his identity, he finally shows me his ID and I realize I have come face to face with him. I sheepishly apologize and offer to buy him dinner. Since we have both eaten, we share a cappuccino and a few hours of deep conversation, he offers to take me on his boat the next day and I accept.
While lounging by his pool drinking Tom Collins’ after the boat ride, he gently extracts my story from me. I tell him about the abduction over a year ago and that I have been mourning the loss of my family. I have also been hiding from the media, the story was so sensational I was being hounded by the paparazzi everywhere I went. We find that we have a lot in common, our desire to stay out of the spotlight is one of them. After we make dinner, his kitchen is as fabulous as it looks on TV, we eat on the patio and I head back to my villa.
We spend the next week holding hands, walking the streets of Italy, buying flowers and fruits from the street vendors, laughing and talking. On the 8th night, George surprises me with a few large packages. They contain beautiful dresses, jewels and shoes – I can afford these things on my own, the publicity surrounding the abduction made me a billionaire – but George wanted to surprise me. We are leaving on his private jet tonight for the Academy Awards, he wanted me to have everything I need for the trip without worry.
After my red carpet debut, the headlines read “Could She be THE One?”, “Clooney Takes Flight with Alien Woman” and “George and Karen Fly to the Moon Together”. The rest, as they say, is history. My family never returns and every night I look up to the sky and wish them well, hoping they are loved and living a good life with their new alien family. George and I live a quiet life doing good deeds, he continues to make movies and I open a foundation for children whose parents have been abducted by aliens. We pass quietly in our sleep, the same night, holding hands in our bed.