Today SHOULD be a national holiday.
Oh, sure, she's not technically from our nation. But on this day, 74 years ago, was born a lady who grew up to teach Americans about everything that's important in this life: how to be a fabulously dressed, big-haired beeyotch with a penchant for catfighting in lily ponds, hurling martini glasses, lying to your amnesiac ex-husband that you are still married and blissfully happy, wearing jaunty tam-o-shanters and turbans, eating caviar and drinking champagne as early as possible every day, and hissing the names of her enemies at closed doors while wearing sleeves so high and pointed that she could have used them to clean out her ears. This woman is our everything.
Happy birthday, Joan Collins, you delicious, mischievous timeless minx.
You've been quoted as saying, "After a certain age, you get the face you deserve." Well, clearly you're being rewarded for something. Probably, it's all those years you spent giving us Alexis Morrell Carrington Colby Dexter Rowan and her satin-clad hijinks. Feel free to dump a drink on our heads any time.
You can do it twice if you return to the airwaves soon. Please?
** Edited to add: To anyone who's thinking of telling us about Footballers Wives: We're definitely aware she's on the season that's about to air on BBC America -- what I was referring to is getting her on a major show here, that she could potentially be on for a long time a la "Dynasty," because that's the amount of Joan we need in our lives. But overall, e-mailers: Never fear! We have not lost track of La Collins.
