My Saturday started with picking up my daughter Trish and heading to Target because I needed to return a sweater that, according to the receipt, was past its quota of days it could hang out at my house. It was a white chenille boat-neck that looked so pretty on the hanger.
I stepped up to the clerk and said, “I hope you’ll take pity on me here. I bought this a while back to wear for Christmas, but when I put it on I … ” and here is where I bent in real close and confessed — “I looked like the Pillsbury Dough boy.”
Her snicker made me happy, but the full price return of my money made me delirious. I showed my pleasure by turning around and spending it all and a lot more from their clearance section.
As we were heading to check out we passed a certain celebrity. “Do you know who that is?” I asked my daughter. “Yep, just don’t embarrass me like last time.”
“Twenty two years ago we ran into him at the mall and you had to stop and ask him if he believed that the drop in barometric pressure had anything to do with encouraging labor because Jodie was pregnant.”
“Well, spank me and sit me in a corner. I was just making atmospheric conversation. What else do you talk to a weatherman about?”
Next thing you know, he came around the corner and bumped right into Trisha, apologized and kept going.
“You know, I’m only 98% sure it’s him” I said as I stared him down.
“Oh it’s him, alright. He has a very distinctive voice.”
“But I’m used to seeing him dressed up, and this guy looks pretty ‘relaxed,’ you know, like me on laundry day.”
“Mom, it’s him. Now just don’t be that person.” (Huh?)
We got in line … right behind him, whispering and making faces at each other because she was insisting I not start a conversation. Then a clerk came up behind us and said “Sir, I can help you over at the snack bar.” He didn’t seem to hear her and because I was still only 98% sure I softly said, “Call him Wayne and see if he turns around.”
With that he turned around and begged off, telling her to help “these young ladies” instead.
Of course my mouth, which I have little control over, wanted him to know his cover was blown and said “But I like being behind him” as the clerk dragged us away.
(It’s only now occurring to me that he might have been trying to shake us.)
Anyway, I got teased all the way to the car for “being that person” which I assume is equivalent to being a groupie, back in my day.
No sooner had I started the car than Trish was dialing the phone, and I assumed she was calling home to check on the kids but no …. she had called her sister and started rehashing the incident and how embarrassing I was, flirting with Wayne Mahar.
“Again?” Jodie gasped through the phone line as I spit and sputtered.
“I never even talked to him! I just let him know we recognized him which I’m sure he appreciated.” But it was too late. The two of them were ganging up on me in their usual silly way and Trish was laughing so thoroughly that it almost sounded like music. I played along because I didn’t want to stop the music.
“Mom, I’m surprised you didn’t say “Do you remember me from 22 years ago, when I asked you about barometric pressure? Hahahaha”
How much of a “that person” does she think I am? Apparently I was embarrassing (as mothers are known to be) so it’s better left under the table — unless of course he were to buy me a beer, and then who knows what I would tell him, my mouth being what it is.