I couldn’t sleep. So I turned on the TV and found Seinfeld reruns (the episode where George and Kramer pick up Jerry and Elaine from the airport), and in the process I’ve realized something that should’ve occurred to me long ago:
I AM ELAINE BENES.
Not just a little bit. Think about it:
Best friends with an ex with whom she banters, argues and shares Big Salads.
Entry-level editing job.
Volatile, curly brown hair.
Spends much of her time as the only girl among a bunch of funny, oddball dudes.
Abnormally boisterous reactions to shocking news.
The boy I liked in elementary school told me this comparison once. (He had sophisticated taste, this kid. In his TV shows. And his women.) I was flattered, but I didn’t really watch much Seinfeld until college, so it’s taken me this long to see what Gary saw in me 20 years ago: all the spunk, wit & charm…and a whole lotta neurosis (but not, of course, the dance moves).
*No Liz Lemons were harmed in the writing of this blog post.