Okay…You Got Me.

Got up at 2:15 to catch a 5:30 flight outta LAX to DC via BWI.  Hair still mostly braided, mildly grubby grey t-shirt, walking with a gimp, I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.

That did not stop me from heading to Whole Foods for provisions.  If I hafta spend three days learning about “Breakthrough Communications” in a “supportive, cooperative environment” I’m gonna need some serious shitfood.

“How do you feel about that?”

“I feel I’ll have some chocolate.”

So off I waddle to Whole Paycheck, having checked into my downtown DC hotel.  Great gods, even at the government rate (ie, cheap), lodging is $265/night (“no, madam, that does not include a refrigerator in your room”).

Conveniently, it does not take long for the air conditioner to cool the room.

Because it’s like 12×12.

I’ve been on cruise ships with bigger standard rooms.

Anyway.  I’m in WF, staggered by the masses of humanity.  Our local WF rarely has more than two registers open.  This one has a dozen going with a machine at the head of the line announcing which checker is now available for the next customer.  Holy crap.

Not only that, there are two lines which ultimately merge like a nightmare 405 intersecting with the 101 before you can check out.

So, after doing the hunter/gatherer thing, I got in the line, where I spied one of the things I was missing, but it was outta reach – so I asked a woman in the other line if she would pass it to me.

She gave me a look like I was from Area 52, then passed over the ground pea snackies.

I gave a dazzling smile through the appalling hair, grubby t-shirt and general exhaustion.  “Thank you!  You’re a dear!”

She continued to look at me weirdly, which made me really uncomfortable.  I mean, what do you do when someone obviously thinks you have a second head emerging from your neck?


She continued with the hard stare.  “I know you.”

I giggled a little nervously.  This was getting a wee bit weird.  “I don’t think so.”

She raised one eyebrow conspiratorially and whispered, “oh, yeah.  I do.  I just can’t quite place you.”

“Mmmm.  Nope.  I live in Los Angeles.”

“Well, of course you do.”

“Sorry, I… don’t know you.”

She tilted her head.  “Of course you don’t.”

My eyebrow went up.  “What?”

She leaned over and whispered, “You can tell me.  What show are you on?”

Wait, what?!

She didn’t quite believe me when I assured her I’m NOT anything to do with Hollywood.  And damn… walking back to the hotel, I realized I shoulda said “Jennifer Aniston.  I’ve put on a couple pounds.  Nice to meet you.”

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