I’m never going to be a Bond girl.
I came to this realization when I was watching a James Bond marathon on tv the other day. Now I’ve never had a hankering to bear the title of being a “Bond Girl”, so it’s not like this is a heavy realization or anything. But as much as I like martinis, fast cars and innuendos, that moniker will never be mine.
That ship has sailed, probably in the Thames somewhere, along with my age. See, I’m too old to be a regrettably named character trading double entendres with James Bond. Plenty O’Toole and Honey Ryder (real Bond girl names BTW), are suitable yet ridiculous names for spring chickens. Not an older hen like myself.
Now being in my mid-thirties doesn’t mean I’m signing up for AARP anytime soon. But the only exception to the age rule for being a Bond girl was the actress Honor Blackman. She starred as a very unfortunately named character in 1964’s Goldfinger.
No, I will not say her name. I just…can’t. Go look it up.
Anyways, Ms. Blackman reportedly was a blushing 40 years old at the time Goldfinger came out. And she has been the only Bond “woman” if you will, of the whole franchise.
Ms. Blackman paved the way, only to have it tread on in high heels no less, by the young gorgeousness that followed. Jill St. John, Jane Seymour, and Carole Bouquet, I’m looking at you.
So where does that leave me with my dreams of driving an Aston Martin, shooting the ish with Moneypenny, and ummmmm hellooooo…Daniel Craig?
Watching from the sidelines.
On my couch in my slippers.
Wearing no make-up.
And maybe drinking a martini…