Fat Tuesday, My Arse

Fat Tuesday? Certainly not in my memory. Actress Tuesday Weld was a lithe and graceful goddess who stole the heart of a young Dooley Johns, as surely as she did every bloke she starred alongside onscreen, every usher who ducked into the velvet folds of the theater curtains to have his filthy way with himself under the film siren's watchful eye, every film projectionist barricaded in a darkened room who fumbled a reel transfer mid-fantasy, every matinee-goer who strategically situated a popcorn box in his lap with the hope that an unsuspecting date might dig deeper and deeper with ever-increasing — which is to say, mounting — ardour. The obvious European temptresses — the Brigettes, Ursulas and Sophias — never held sway the way this doe-eyed American did. She occupied my waking thoughts every bloody day — Tuesdays above of all — and her Cinescope® magazine pictorial held a special place — permanent residence — in the bottom of my undie drawer. Our love — or rather lovemaking — was unrequited, yet 'twas no less impassioned. So 'tis that we remember Ms. Weld, respectfully with fondness, on this decidedly Non-Fat — which is to say, sculpted and round-bottomed — Tuesday.