twitsandblobs

I have a fancy cousin named Hugh.  He is a sweetie and he is also quite the jet setter.  Old enough to grab a little respect simply by standing there, yet young enough to attract the ladies who can still dance in high heels.   He is a fine piece of eye candy if I must say so myself.  Always dressed like a centerfold for J. Crew’s Unintentionally Internationally Chic line.  Get the picture?   My husband, Tom, and I call him Hollywood Hugh because somehow he is always surrounded by celebs.  Celebs of all kinds.  Movie stars, famous rockers, sports legends, sisters of movie stars… you get the picture.  Also, he is forever fluttering off to the grooviest places on earth even if he isn’t surrounded by celebs at that particular moment. Fascinating!  Because you see, this fella isn’t from a jet setter sort of family.  They are the warmest, most wonderful salt of the earth people you will ever meet.  They are educated and well traveled yes, but in a different sort of way than the ways of HH.  And they, like me, are from a small town in Louisiana, not NYC, Paris or London.   Hollywood Hugh is a different animal.  He is his own gene pool all together, even though he looks exactly like the rest us, only better.  Sometimes at family gatherings he will drop the names of mutual acquaintance/place/fame fiend nonchalantly and humbly as in, “I ran into Hans in the St. Martin airport the other day,” or “I ran into so and so in a little restaurant in Beijing,” or “Yeah, I was having dinner with _____________in LA and he said that ____________is about to make a big announcement about _____________.”  I don’t understand.  I know he has a job and that he works, so when does he?????  How does he????? Whatever.   More than once my husband and I have been hunkered down watching the Oscars or the Final Four or the Grammy’s  or the likes when what to the wondering eye should appear on the screen, usually in the background, but-tah-dah!-Hollywood Hugh, often on the arm of the sexiest woman in the joint.  True!  It is like a reality game of “Where’s Waldo.”  Sometimes, just to get under his skin a little I will text him a photo of yours truly in a fancy/groovy/fashionable setting with the fanciest/grooviest/fashionablest person I can entice to step into the photo with me whether I know them or not.  I will include simple cryptic captions such as, “Awww, too bad!” or “She knows you!”  I toss out just enough foreplay to tweak his interest, but not enough main dish for him to figure things out.  And that is fine, for he is well aware that he has me beat on the red carpet. And really, that is fine too because he will forever be my most entertaining of relatives, and I know he will always be there for me in a crunch or just for fun.  I mean, you know, if he isn’t running the bulls in Pamplona.   So I guess this guy has the goods from two different worlds.  He is handsome, charming, single, resourceful, loyal , good to his Mama, and somewhat covert.  He is an anomaly.  He is intriguing.  After all, he is Hollywood Hugh.