Early in December I had my first encounter with a fan. It was exciting. Then it wasn’t.
Sheepdog and I brought all of the kids to have breakfast with Santa at our neighborhood clubhouse. We go every year, even though the older ones complain about having to wake up early and put makeup and nice clothes on (duh… because everything after November 1 becomes a potential Christmas card photo-op). Stop your griping and moaning and sit on the nice man’s lap, but anyone who is thirteen or older has to sit kinda off to the side. Anyway…
The kids told The Big Guy what they wanted for Christmas and we made the ornaments and we ate the eggs and bacon and donuts and we smiled for all of the pictures, so it was time to go. As we were herding the kids, I saw the new editor of our neighborhood newsletter across the room. I asked Sheepdog if he would mind getting the kids into the car and told him I would be out right behind them.
I said goodbye to Mr. Editor and thanked him for another wonderful event, but first he introduced me to a new neighbor. Well, first he told me I was “difficult to edit,” but that is beside the point of this story. He told me the man’s name and then told him mine, followed by “she writes an article in the monthly newsletter.”
There was a pause followed by recognition. The man said very nice things, but he didn’t make a lot of eye contact. I was uncomfortable for a second, but then it dawned on me that maybe he thought of me as an actual writer and this was my first experience with an admirer of my blog, someone I did not know prior to publishing. For just a second, my mind was whirling with dreams of celebrity and fame and universal accolades and recognition. At almost the same moment, Sheepdog was finally done gathering our charges and putting on their coats and hats, so he paged me as he headed outside.
“Stacy, I am putting the kids in the car now,” as the door closed behind him.
Still smiling inside my perceived fame bubble, I started to excuse myself and tell the man that it was nice to have met him when he stammered out with palpable excitement, “Wait. Was that Sheepdog?”
“Yes. That was my husband.” Snap back to reality.
“No way! That was Sheepdog! I love him. He is awesome!” said the man, this time with lots of eye contact.
I guess he wasn’t my biggest fan. Pop went my own fame bubble, especially when he added, “Sometimes I really feel for that guy…”
Wish me luck for tomorrow…