Growing up in the intense glare that accompanies having two well-known Hollywood stars for parents can’t be easy.
Though there are certainly worse circumstances in which to be born, Dylan Michael and Carys Zeta Douglas, the children of Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones, will probably never lack for anything, to put it mildly.
The media has been following Dylan and Carys’ development with interest, with many wondering if they would follow in the footsteps of their famous parents and become famous themselves.
It looks likе we have an answer now, at least for Carys.
Zeta-Jones has been candid in admitting that she expected both of her kids to follow her onto the big screen—or try to.
In an interview with Hello! Magazine, the 49-year-old stated: “You want to look at them when they’re on stage.” They also have an interest in the craft. My son wishes to pursue a bachelor’s degree in theater. Up to the age of five, my daughter believed acting was a better career choice than being a pediatrician.
Many people are interested in following the developments of the two children, as they both want to follow in the footsteps of their parents. The recent buzz surrounding Carys, who has been drawing a lot of attention for the simple reason that she is beginning to resemble her mother more and more every day, is sufficient evidence for those in need of it.
The teenager created a lot of buzz when she made her runway debut at New York Fashion Week the previous year.
Since then, she has remained under the radar, which is understandable given that she is only 15 years old. However, this week, the radio silence was broken when she went to another fashion event with her mother.
At the Dolce & Gabbana Alta Moda women’s couture event hosted at the New York Metropolitan Opera House, Carys and Catherine stole the show. Mother and daughter arrived wearing matching clothes, and they posed for several photos that showcased their resemblance.
Carys is undoubtedly growing into a stunning woman, much likе her mother. Furthermore, from all reports, she has an equally kind personality!
If you likе Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones, please shаrе this post.
MY LATE GRANDMA’S NEIGHBOR ACCUSED ME OF HIDING “HER SHARE OF THE WILL” — WHEN SHE REFUSED TO LEAVE, I GAVE HER A REALITY CHECK.
The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, cast harsh shadows on the woman standing on my porch, her face a mask of indignation. Mrs. Gable, Grandma’s “entitled neighbor,” as she so lovingly referred to her, was a force of nature, and not a particularly pleasant one.
“How long am I supposed to wait for my share of the will?!” she demanded, her voice a grating rasp that could curdle milk. “My grandkids are coming over, and I want them to take their part of the inheritance before they leave!”
I blinked, trying to process the sheer audacity of her statement. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice calm despite the rising tide of annoyance, “Grandma’s will… it doesn’t mention you.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. “Nonsense! We were like family! She wouldn’t leave me out.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but everything in the house now belongs to me.”
I offered a small concession. “I’ve packed some boxes for donation. You’re welcome to look through them, see if there’s anything you want.”
“Donation boxes?!” she shrieked. “Your grandma was like family to us! We had to be mentioned in the will. Give it to me! I have to see for myself.”
“I can’t do that,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “The will is a legal document.”
She planted her feet, a stubborn look on her face. “Then I’m not leaving. I’ll just stand here until you give me what’s mine.” She proceeded to stand directly in front of my porch, peering into my windows and muttering under her breath.
I sighed. This was getting ridiculous. I needed to give this woman a reality check, a gentle but firm reminder that she wasn’t entitled to anything.
I went inside, grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper, and returned to the porch. Mrs. Gable watched me, her eyes filled with suspicion.
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice laced with distrust.
“I’m writing you a bill,” I said, my voice deliberately casual.
“A bill? For what?”
“For services rendered,” I said, scribbling on the paper. “Let’s see… ‘Consultation regarding inheritance, one hour… $100.'”
Mrs. Gable’s face turned a shade of purple I didn’t think possible. “Are you serious?!”
“Perfectly,” I said, adding another line. “‘Unauthorized surveillance of private property, one hour… $50.'”
“That’s outrageous!” she sputtered.
“And,” I continued, adding a final line, “‘Emotional distress caused by unwarranted demands, one hour… $150.'” I handed her the paper. “That’ll be $300, Mrs. Gable.”
She snatched the paper from my hand, her eyes scanning the ludicrous list. “You can’t do this!”
“Actually, I can,” I said, a smile playing on my lips. “And if you don’t pay, I’ll have to add late fees.”
She crumpled the paper in her fist, her face a mask of fury. “You’re just like your grandma!” she hissed. “Entitled and selfish!”
“Perhaps,” I said, “but I’m also practical. And I value my peace of mind.”
She glared at me for a moment, then turned and stomped off the porch, muttering about lawyers and lawsuits. I watched her go, a sense of satisfaction washing over me.
Later that day, as I sorted through Grandma’s belongings, I found a small, velvet-lined box tucked away in a drawer. Inside was a handwritten note, addressed to me.
“My dearest grandchild,” it read, “I know Mrs. Gable can be… persistent. Remember, you owe no one anything. Your happiness is your own. And sometimes, a little bit of absurdity is the best way to deal with entitlement.”
I smiled, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. Grandma had known exactly what to do. And she had left me the perfect tool to handle it. I had learned a valuable lesson that day: sometimes, the best way to deal with entitled people is to meet their absurdity with your own. And a little bit of humor never hurts.
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