Thursday, January 17, 2008

The Football Player and Miss J.

Ronnie Lott
The Scene: The check-in table at the annual Jefferson Awards to-do.

The Players: Me and two young women I used to work with at The Chronicle. [I say "young" because I am old enough to be their mother, if I'd gotten knocked-up as a teen-ager.]

The Time: A bit after 5:30 p.m., or more than 30 minutes after the festivities were to start.

The three of us are handling last-minute stragglers. A nice looking man walks up. He looks familiar to me, but I don't know why.

Miss J.: Hello, could I have your name please?

Mr. L.: Ronnie Lott.

Miss J: (Having misheard the name and looking for whatever name she thought she heard) I don't see it.

Me: (Knowing exactly what the name is and grabbing the name tag) Here you go.

Mr. L.: Thanks.

After he walks away, I say, "Duh, you idiot. That's Ronnie Lott. The football player."

Miss J. immediately jumps up, smooths down her skirt and pushes up her bosom -- okay, not really the second part -- and races after him to ask him if he's expecting Mrs. Lott to be joining him. Ronnie indicates there is no Mrs. Lott.

I tell the two women how sad he must be that the only one who recognized him was this old woman, while the two young hot women hadn't a clue who he was. What an ego crusher.

Once the show is over and the awards have been dispersed and the reception is in full-swing, she is on him. As people come over to shake his hand, many ask for pictures with him. Miss J. becomes his personal paparazzo. She is so all over him.

I can't resist the opportunity to start pretending she is famous and saying things like, "Oh, Miss J., can I have your photo?" I laugh myself silly. A good time was had by all.

Miss J.

Rides to Heaven on a Gyroscope

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