Tickets to the Oprah house

It’s my life- long ambition to be interviewed by Oprah Winfrey. Not just meet her, have her interview me. I’m not entirely sure why. It’s not like I don’t recognise that she can be a little annoying, that most of the topics on her shows are aimed at people who seem to have no idea and sometimes they seem a little exploitative. Still, that doesn’t stop me wanting to meet the woman who I think has most of America, and some other parts of the world, eating out of the palm of her hand. 

Recent advice of this, her 24th season, being her last will clearly have a serious negative impact on my actually realising this goal. Other factors, clearly come into play, but I’ve neglected to consider those.

In my dream state, I’ve achieved some enormous amazing feat, like developed a methodology to eradicate poverty, drought and famine (all at once) that’s been adopted by multiple international governments, or in another one of my many dreams, I’ve written an award winning emotionally charged novel that leaves thousands, if not millions, of people in tears and changes the way we all live our lives. As a result of these fabulousness, Oprah has no choice but to interview me.

In this particular dream, on the day of the show, Oprah introduces me and the audience rises from their seats and I walk onto the stage, humble despite my overwhelming achievements, clutching my clasped hands to my chest smiling and blowing air  kisses into the crowd.

Oprah and I will hug, she’ll kiss my cheek in response to the great contribution I have made to the world, hold my hand and raise it to the air in a joint fist pump. I’ll smile, shrug coquettishly and say “Oh it was nothing, really. Anyone would have done the same thing in my situation. ”

I’ll sit, arrange my incredibly expensive skirt on her yellow couch, flash the red bottoms of my Laboutins that are similar to Oprah’s and pretend the incredibly manicured hair, makeup and nails that I’m sporting is how I get about every day. Since, even as a humanitarian I appreciate good style and design.

Our chat will bring her to tears, members of the audience will dab at their tear ducts, wet or otherwise, in a bid to show empathy and that they too are charged with emotion, at least to get their faces on TV.

We’ll talk about how special we are. Oprah may make mention of how much money she has, I’ll try not to feel uncomfortable, but nod knowingly, while the audience whoops.

We’ll both engage the audience, asking them if they know what we’re saying is right, right?
We laugh at each other’s jokes and pat each other’s arms to exaggerate a point or when we’re excited about a point.

Basically, I’m a roaring success. And Oprah clearly thinks I’m the shiz.

After the show, Oprah and I chat, exchange mobile numbers and promise to stay in touch. I know we will, as we’ve so much in common.

So, in reality, I’m a bit excited by Oprah coming to Australia. I’m jumping on board and joining the ticket lottery!