When Maria Callas first appeared on the international scene, she sang like
a bird, looked like a small whale, and the only people who truly knew and loved
her were the perennial ticket-holding opera lovers.
Few years later, looking like Audrey Hepburn, photographers couldn’t get
enough of her face and body, socialites overwhelmed her with invitations to
their yachts and private planes, and rich men kept their beds warm ever hopeful
that she might, one day, consent to join them there.
Yes, the world and its’ inhabitants are superficial. That, I imagine,
includes you and me. If some enchanted evening you’re looking at a stranger
across a crowded room, ten to one your eyes won’t be lingering on the plainest
and the most overweight person there.
But while the critics of Maria Callas cried hypocritical tears about the
massive vanity which led Maria Callas to become a shadow of her former self,
vanity wasn’t the only factor guiding her actions.
No one was more aware than Ms. Callas that the Verdis and the Puccinis,
and even the Wagners, were not writing operas about giant-killing sized
heroines. On the contrary, if their heroines weren’t dying of consumption or
broken heart, they were seducing powerful men with their beguiling playfulness
or Salome-like sexiness.
As a singer Maria Callas could pretend to be playing a part, or, as she
actually chose to do, be the part.
Which brings me to the point of the article. If you’re about to take a
honeymoon and you’re not as young as you used to be, or as flexible as you
used to be, or as maneuverable as you used to be, and if you decide to do
something about it such as get acquainted with your nutritionist, beautician and
gym instructor, do remember that there’s a life beyond your honeymoon. Once
you’ve become what you want to be, make it a lifelong transformation. Isn’t
a life-long union worth it?