I'm So Ready For My Close-Up Now, Mr. De Mille.

Have you met my famous family?

In all fairness, I have to mention that that is Kira's hair spliced in. Her hair's agent gets very touchy about equal billing.

I actually believe that it's this poster that Tom Cruise was referring to on Oprah when he proclaimed, "I'm in love!" and moved him to jump that couch.

No one believes me when I tell them that sometimes he gets paid to stand around in his bathrobe all day.

I think I've mentioned before that Rigel designs movie posters for a living. Oftentimes they aren't able to get the actual stars to show up for a photo shoot - say for instance the shoot is taking place on a Wednesday at 9am, and that happens to be the exact time that Joaquin Phoenix is having a vegan facial at The Four Seasons, or John Travolta is hosting a Scientology Quilting Bee in his Hollywood home. This is when body doubles are called in, and well, if you happen to be the exact height as a cosmic hitchhiker or have a couple of daughters that could double as fire victims or orphans of an alien invasion, Hollywood may come a knockin'.

What's that you say? Someone's missing? Why, yes - it appears that I'm the only member of this family whose image has never graced a movie poster. You see, as the rest of them makes inroads into cinematic fame, I've been left behind to wallow in my sheer anonymous-ness, to flounder in obscurity as my husband and children enjoy catered photoshoots and public recognition and say to each other, "Yes, pity that mother isn't here, but thank goodness she'll have a hot meal waiting for us when we return from our glamorous day."

At 5'3", I realize that my abilities as a starlet stand-in are limited. I harbor no illusions of doubling for Charlize Theron unless she plans on transforming herself into a pygmy in a desperate bid for another Academy Award. But surely various body parts of mine could be salvageable as movie-poster material. For instance, I find it hard to believe that my slender forearms could not at some point stand in for those of a fourteen year old boy. Or the left side of my right ankle? Virtually undistinguishable from that of a Thai prostitute's. And don't get me started on all the Japanese tourist stand-in jobs I've been passed over for.

Recently Rigel did a photoshoot for Snakes On A Plane. They needed several people to play passengers in the plane, all asked to pretend that they were being attacked by menacing snakes. Screaming, in horror at the presence of creepy crawlies? Hello! I've only been practicing for this role my entire life. And while he, along with several of his co-workers were asked to be in the shot, was I asked to participate? To perhaps play that passenger in aisle 5, seat 4 who's hyperventilating at the thought of having her life blood sucked out of her by an escaped reptile? Let's just say that my lifelong dream of sharing some ink with Samuel L. Jackson won't be realized this time around.

So, now that I've laid out my case, consider this the start of a vigorous campaign to be included in my family's advertising legacy. I look forward to the day when I'm asked to put down my iron, pull myself away from the breakfast dishes and make my way to the photo studio to become a part of the movie-marketing machine. Because, I hate to brag, but I've been told that in certain light, at just the right angle, my left earlobe looks just like Jennifer Aniston's.

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