Quick update from the Toronto airport, post film festival gala...

It was a magical night. I had a wonderful time. And I am so glad my job does not involve having to look gorgeous in sky-high heels and a skintight dress while people stare at me, scrutinizing my ever inhalation, gesture and sigh.

The adventure began yesterday in Philadelphia. I bought Cosmopolitan with Cameron Diaz on the cover, admired the pictures, devoured the interview, then flipped through the feature on how to deliver what Cosmo calls bad below-the-belt news (I know know that the way to tell your fella he's got that not-so-fresh smell is to say, "Babe, your package seems a little sweaty.")

We checked into our hotel. I got my hair and makeup done. Given that I'd be in the same room later in the day with Cameron Diaz, this seemed prudent.

At 5:30, a Town Car whisked us off to the official IN HER SHOES premiere at Roy Thomson Hall. I figured I'd snap a quick picture of the red carpet, then take my place with the other autograph-seekers to await the stars' arrival.

Not so much.

"JENNIFER! OVER HERE! JENNIFER! THIS WAY, PLEASE!"


I did a couple interviews with Canadian TV crews (and only had to clarify once that I'd written the novel, not the screenplay). I posed for pictures, which was both fun and ridiculous.

Then I was escorted to the green room, where the stars gradually trickled in after their own red-carpet runs: first Shirley MacLaine, looking regal in black. Then Toni Collette, almost unrecognizable with ash-blond hair and a shoulder-baring black Grecian-style gown. And finally, my BFF, in bright red lipstick and a tight black dress with a low square neck and dainty cap sleeves and skyscraping turquoise heels. "I thought people might take pictures of my feet tonight!" she said, giggling.

"Okay!" shouted someone from the studio. "Everyone who's not going up on stage needs to take a seat!"

I got in line to head up to the theater. Someone yanked me out. Next thing I knew I was standing backstage watching Curtis Hanson introduce the film.

Next thing I knew after that I was standing on the stage, next to Curtis Hanson, and Susannah Grant, the screenwriter, feeling like the world's least-prepared Miss America contestant, as each of the stars came on stage and flashbulbs fired and four thousand people cheered.

Wonderful. Surreal.

Then I got to see the movie again, and that was the best part of all.

In other news, the People magazine I'm in hits the newsstands Friday. You can see pictures of me with spouse and spawn, and little dog, which will undoubtedly prompt some sour anonymous blogger to opine that because I'm posing with a little dog it means I espouse bad reactionary values instructing everyone to get a little dog.

Pretty pictures, though.

Also, if you buy the October Glamour I've got a short story in it about a woman who becomes unhealthily obsessed with her ex-boyfriend's online wedding registry, and what happens when she erases his intended's name and types in her own.

Jen