Celebrity Sightings

I was sick this week.


I had a migraine and a sore throat on Sunday, and thanks to my new, television-sexy neurologist, Dr Hotbraindoctor, I was able to medicate that pain away after a sleep-in until noon.


But after noon, things got weird.  I was so tired.  I thought it was just the migraine bringing me down, as they will, but now I know better.


IT WAS THE HAND OF DEATH REACHING FOR ME.

Sunday night, I didn't sleep.  Well I suppose that's a gross exaggeration.  I slept, all right, but it was an icky sleep, and I kept waking up, and I dreamed about bears again (at least this time they weren't actively threatening me, but who would build a shopping mall next to a bear reserve with only a pond for a barrier is quite beyond me, thank-you).  When I awoke, I felt like I couldn't move.  I could, but I didn't want to.  My head ached, my neck ached, and my throat, well, it was scratchy.  So scratchy, in fact, that I couldn't speak.

It was Monday, but I didn't go to work.  I stayed in bed until about 11:00, when I realised I needed Annie's Organic Shells and White Cheddar or I might possibly die.  If you haven't tasted this stuff, you don't understand.  If you're like most people, then you probably recommend chicken soup and orange juice for a cold, and then secretly eat Mars bars or dill pickle chips.  I used to have Kraft Dinner as a sick person food, until I met Annie.

I'm getting very distracted now, thinking about that cheesy goodness.  That rabbit knows its way around a kitchen, what can I say?

There was no way around it.  I was going to have to go to the store.  I could feel death's grip around approximately my left knee and my right kidney, but I had to leave the house.

Was I going to brush my hair first?  No!  Brush my teeth?  No!  Wash my face?  No!  But I did pick the sleep out of my eyes.  I was sick, not a monster.

I found my sweatpants, which must have been clean (miracle) because they were away (who am I?!) and a nice thick sweatshirt, that, when coupled with the giant winter coat I was planning on wearing, would cover for the fact that I had zero intention of removing my dirty pajama top to put on a bra.

I was ready for my outing.  If I were a planning ahead sort of gal, I'd have snapped a picture in the mirror just for this blog, but I had other concerns:  HAND OF DEATH.

I made it the one block to the Sobey's on the corner and started stocking up: chicken soup, Tostitos, grape pop, you know the drill.  I think I can pass over the horror and the reading of ingredients and slow, molasses-ey sick-person math that occurred when I learned Sobey's didn't carry Annie's and I had to choose between store brand and Kraft white cheddar, because this blog post is entitled "Celebrity Sightings" and you are wondering when I'm going to get to that.

Well, gentle reader, it happened at the till.

I was tucking a stray strand of greasy hair back into my coat (I'm usually pretty put together, but HAND OF DEATH) when I saw her.

Trina.

She was in the other line.  I wasn't sure at first—I mean, I thought it was her, I'd seen a narrow waist, perfect posture, and a tumble of black hair—but I didn't think it could be true.

Trina.

At Sobey's, on my street, at lunch time, when I wasn't even wearing clean underwear.

Trina.

I double-checked and caught a glimpse of the curve of her cheek.  Yes, it was definitely Trina.  What was I going to do?  I couldn't let her see me like this, greasy, un-made-up, probably smelly.

I did what any one of you would do.  I backed up a little. I stared at the floor, my face turned away.  I guaranteed she didn't see me.

Yes!  Yes friends, I squandered what could have been a bit of sunshine, joy, delight! because I didn't want to see the indescribable Trina (apart from the aforementioned waist, posture, and hair), the elusive, the magnificent (I'm describing, aren't I, she has that effect) Trina, I didn't want Trina to see me like this.

If you are wondering, would I do it any differently next time?  Knowing the regret that I carry in my bosom, would I, next time, swallow my pride and approach the illuminated Trina?

Again, I don't have an actual photo.  Monday was much worse than this artist's rendering, but this, friends, is an approximation.

I think you know the answer.