If You Ask Me: (And of Course You Won't)
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The New York Times bestseller from the beloved actress who's made us laugh on shows from The Mary Tyler Moore Show to Saturday Night Live! In this candid take on everything from the unglamorous reality behind red-carpet affairs to her beauty regimen ("I have no idea what color my hair is, and I never intend to find out"), Betty White shares her observations about life, celebrity, and love (for humans and animals). Filled with photos, If You Ask Me is funny, sweet, and straight to the point-just like Betty.
past year, and a whole generation of fans who have met me through syndication, it seems like the number of people who call themselves fans just keeps growing. (There was a time when The Golden Girls was on four times a day!) I don’t mean for this to sound self-serving, but it can be a problem, and yet these are the people responsible for your good fortune! Please know how grateful I am. Even if I do have to rush by to catch a plane! With Dancer. GLOBE PHOTOS STAGECRAFT ASSOCIATED
almost on my shoulder—all the way back to his stall! Believe me, I’m not trying to sound like some sort of horse whisperer. I rode my first horse when I was too young to straddle, during those camping trips to the High Sierras with my parents. My horse, Queenie, was big and broad and gentle—and she wanted to eat absolutely everything along the trail. I wasn’t big or strong enough to control her. The guide had to come and tell her, “Queenie, that’s enough!” And shoo her along. So horse-whispering
was not my forte. With Butterscotch, Tom was doing all the work, but it was Butterscotch who was making the choices. I learned later that during the whole exercise, Tom was trying to figure out how he was going to transfer Butterscotch’s attention from himself, since he’d done all the training, over to me. This lovely horse must have said, “I can handle it—leave it to me.” Recently, I received a beautiful crystal paperweight engraved with Butterscotch’s image. My heart broke when I read the
where you are introduced to several people at the same time, I wind up with a bunch of names I can remember but I don’t know where to put them. I try to make silent notes in my head: JohnSmithbluetie. JaneJonespearlearrings. Sometimes those notes can carry you through a whole evening before they evaporate. That game may work with total strangers but not with someone you’ve met before and should remember but don’t. You are off to a bad start when you say, “It’s nice meeting you.” And they respond
bringing my work downstairs to the dining room table at the end of the living room. It sits by a big window looking out to the garden, and Donna and I find it a most pleasant workplace. Unfortunately, the table keeps getting piled higher and higher with leftover works in progress that have become virtually permanent. The dining room table has become an echo of the upstairs spare bedroom! At four a.m., which seems to be my witching hour, I wake up not in a panic about memorizing my lines or what