Let's pretend for a moment that we are not in our mid-40s and have come to understand the reality of being married to a musician, a nightmare of nursing drug addiction and turning blind eye after eye while your husband bangs groupies across the globe.
No, we are still in our teens and the only goal is to achieve the pinnacle of womanhood--become supermodel, marry rock star, inspire legendary songs. Every night we get down on our knees and worship at the altar of the goddesses Pattie and Patti.
While I don't particularly care for the British brand of pixie waif beauty Pattie Boyd exemplified, she seemed like a sweet gal, and was the muse for the greatest love song ever written (I'm talking about Something by George Harrison, not the other two Clapton songs).
And Patti Hansen is simply the foxiest bitch ever. I read somewhere that during the height of her modeling years, she was 135 pounds (practically plus size for a model), could party all night at Studio 54, down an entire bottle of Jack Daniels and still be up for an early morning shoot.
So, I just want to throw it out there that instead of celebrating St. Paddy's Day, we start honoring St. Pattie/Patti Day. Just an idea. Think it over.
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