i only wear white when it rains

There is a critical part in Elizabeth Gilbert’s bestselling memoirs and movie “Eat, Pray, Love” where her character played by Julia Roberts collapses in a fit of tears on the bathroom floor and, for the first time ever, prays to God.

My Julia Roberts moment came tonight. Five minutes before a shower and approximately two days before the final hearing of my divorce.

I crumpled like a soggy newspaper on the 24-inch Walker Zanger marble floor tile that helped me to exceed my master bath budget by 150 percent. Only I didn’t pray. Instead I crawled over to my bottom drawer, sniffing and sobbing, to find my dental picks. And sitting lotus in front of my bathtub, I began to floss.

I wish I could report that I found God at that moment, but all I found was a ball of hair and lint in the corner of my bathroom near the tub that my loyal housekeeper Lucie must have overlooked. So I choked and hiccupped my way over to the Clorox wipes considering that perhaps if poor Lucie didn’t have to spend so much time picking up my scattered clothing castoffs from all over the floor, she’d actually have time to clean.

So after rounding up tumbleweeds of my hair, more blubbering and attempting a Shavasana in the shower that was more water boarding than relaxing, I walked into the master bedroom where I used to sleep.

I stood staring at the man to whom I’ve been married for nearly a decade. I had a million things to say and many questions left to ask. But instead I blurted out this gem:

“What was the card game we used to play in Gainesville on our little wooden table?”

“Rummy. Do you have a cold?”

I shook my head, turned on my heel and walked away. I didn’t get very far before panic set in when I realized the grave consequences of this situation. I cannot believe it took me this long to consider the fact that I might actually (gasp) lose custody of Lucie.

The thought of it makes me want to throw up about as much as I do when Julia Roberts whines about how difficult it was to gain 10 pounds for the “Eat” part of the movie. I gained 10 pounds during the previews and wish they could have just skipped right to Javier Bardem. I want my two hours back.

But if nothing else, the movie left me wondering if I have too few teeth and inspired me to pen my own memoirs: “Floss, Drink, Sleep.” I can’t promise God or Billy Crudup, but there’s sure to be broccoli-free (albeit substantially fewer) teeth and praying only when I can’t find a size 9 espadrille.