Grandma’s Celebrity Gossip


Our popular California columnist encounters another celebrity in an unexpected place.


One day last year I was sitting in Dr. Rosenbaum’s office with my great-granddaughter Traci, who drove me to my appointment.

(She’s the one with the ring in her nose. So big is this ring, you could hang meat from it. But such a lovely girl otherwise. Me, I almost said, “You know, bubeleh, while we’re here, maybe we should have Dr. Rosenbaum snip it off and let the insurance pay for it.” But for peace in the family, I kept it zipped. Why klop der kop in der vant?)

While we were there, a woman walked in with a cat. She was middle-aged. You know, about 65-70, and all decked out in some fancy-shmancy shmatte — a long satin dress, pearls, and matching pumps — all this at 11:00 in the morning!

So up she goes to the receptionist and says, “I need to see a doctor. My cat has arthritis.”

“How does she know the cat has the arthritis?” I whispered to Traci. “Does Mittens have trouble shlepping through “Chopsticks” on the Wurlitzer?”

And what kind of a meshuggeneh brings a cat to the doctor’s office anyway? Back and forth she went with the poor loksh of a receptionist. (Who needs a kopdrayenish like that?)

Then out came the other doctor, the short hairy one with the accent. (Him I never liked.)

And in all this mishegoss, to me the crazy cat lady looked and sounded very familiar. Who could she be?

Then about a month ago, I was sitting under the dryer at the beauty parlor and spotted her on the cover of the National Enquirer. The woman with the cat in Dr. Rosenbaum’s office was none other than Richard Simmons. Different shmatte, same shmendrick.

Like Bruce Jenner (aka Caitlyn Jenner), the Deal-A-Meal bez is now cavorting in public dressed like Gloria Swanson in “Sunset Boulevard.” Gigi says he’s now trans-something-or-other. Drag queens are what they used to be called.

And all this goes to show you that the National Enquirer is right, whether it’s about Mel Gibson, Whitney Houston, Tiger Woods or Richard Gere with the squirrel in his pants.

I’ve said enough already.

Editor’s Note:  The Idiosyncratist was unfamiliar with the final Richard Gere reference and dug up an old Village Voice piece describing and perhaps debunking it.  Read if you wish:

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