Occasionally I'll be at one of my usual haunts - Target, the cheap vegetable market, Whole Foods - and someone will recognize me. Honestly? This delights me every single time.
I mean, I'm not going to lie: I have an ego. It's a little thrilling when people come up to tell me they like what I do. And maybe that's vain or proud, but it's the truth.
Fortunately, the universe has a way of keeping my fat head in check as I never meet anyone when I look cute. No one ever sees me after I've hot rollered my hair or when I'm wearing something awesome like my Burberry plaid shoes. Case in point? The last time someone recognized me, I was at the pharmacy getting medicine for my raging case of pink eye.
Today someone recognized me while I was in my front yard. In one of those random, small-world happenstances, she pulled up in front of my house to pick up her friend next door. We chatted and the whole interchange was lovely. (Again, this never ceases to delight me.)
A lot of times on a Saturday night, Fletch and I go out for dinner. We generally take a cab, so often I can be found standing in front of my house in a pretty dress with snappy accessories. And yet tonight when I talked to my reader, I was clad in filthy shirt, covered in scabs from an intense chemical peel, tossing dog shit into a garbage can using nothing but a pair of gardening gloves.
So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I love when you introduce yourself... but I won't be offended if you opt not to shake my hand.
