I Feel Bad About Not Being Nora

I just finished reading Nora Ephron's "I Feel Bad About My Neck." It's a mixed feeling reading a bestseller by a girl who lived down the hall in your freshman dorm (although you get used to it if you went to Wellesley). The feeling reminds me of a poem by Billy Collins that begins, "I wonder how you are going to feel/ when you find out/ that I wrote this instead of you."

The "Neck" book is quite funny. Nora shares about needing her hair dyed and having red age spots on her chest and the difficulties keeping her purse organized, plus the "sadness of being over sixty... Death is a sniper." She manages to sound friendly even while displaying her commendable accomplishments in journalism and movies. Her essay on parenthood is classic. ("First do your homework; then we'll talk about the tiara.") She makes it look so easy that I kick myself.

I'm so lucky I don't need my hair dyed and my neck looks good and my purse is organized. Of course I do have the age spots but never invest false hope in face cream. And I've only been divorced once. But.. well, I feel bad that I'm not Nora Ephron.