I agreed to take the Ice Bucket Challenge for obvious reasons: getting
noticed on Facebook closer to a cure for ALS. However, I also wanted to see if I could still rock a wet t-shirt. Not that I was in many wet t-shirt contests back in the day, but I do recall being doused with an occasional weekly bucket of water while I writhed on a pub table, screamed and pretended I hated it. Don’t judge me. It landed me my husband.
Knowing full well this was going to be documented, I had my work cut out for me: I hired a hair stylist, wardrobe person, and Ice Bucket Challenge consultant (they tell you where to stand, how to look sexy as the ice cubes cascade down your shirt, and how to edit the swear words from your video). Then, I chose a scorcher of a day so the water would refresh me. And cling to my see-through crop top. Next, I got a
tummy tuck bucket and filled it with water and ice cubes. Finally, I invited a photographer from Cosmopolitan magazine, but settled on my husband when my urgent calls to the “terribly busy” magazine got forwarded to the authorities. Give it a rest.
After hours of wardrobe and pose changes, I began to chafe but thankfully it was an easy fix: I removed my underwear… while my husband filmed it. Okay you caught me! I used to be in
porn flicks school plays and as a result, I am very comfortable in front of a lens. Don’t be jealous. You probably have strengths too.
For the next twenty minutes, my consultant presented various bucket-holding options. After settling on pouring the bucket down my front, the sun went behind a cloud. Grrr. So much for that steamy hot backdrop I was going for. We would just have to wait it out despite my camera crew/ husband getting huffy. It almost felt like he wasn’t in this for the right reasons. Whatevs.
Following hair touch-ups, vocal coaching, and a gin and tonic with a few nummy appies, it was show time. I looked into the camera, announced my Ice Bucket Challenge nomination, and sang a breathless rendition of ‘Happy birthday, Mr. President’. Then I drizzled a smidge of water down my arm and fake-screamed. My consultant thought I might look like a wannabe, so I had no choice but to give ‘er. I poured the bucket over my head, swore like a trucker, and instinctively took to the grass, squirming and thrashing about. Our teenagers hated that part but old habits die hard. Sue me.
I don’t know if it was me shrieking, “Oooh. Yes! Yes! Pour more ice down my shirt, you bad boy!” or what, but I looked up from my grassy pose to see the entire neighborhood staring at me. Talk about raising awareness! I towelled off, went inside to make a donation to ALS, and tried to upload the video onto Facebook. Since my boys were too busy throwing up to help me, I decided instead to download and sell the video on Amazon. Easier.
Overall, the Ice Bucket Challenge was worth it. Sure, it took an entire afternoon, alienated my husband and children from me, and totally wrecked my hair but it did prove once and for all that I can
not rock a wet t-shirt. Oh, and the donations definitely go to a good cause. If you haven’t participated in the challenge, I recommend it. Be selfless, like me. I dare you.
ALS Ice Bucket Challenge Take 1 (Notice the wet forearm):
ALS Ice Bucket Challenge Take 2 (Notice the wet t-shirt):