The time I met a supermodel was the most un-supermodel-y moment I could’ve come up with.
We met each other, but we were never formally introduced.
One morning, I woke up to no water. That was particularly painful as I’d indulged in far too much fermented grape juice the night before. Apparently, the whole apartment complex was sans-eau and I sort of remembered the notices posted around the place for about a week prior.
So, the only option open to me was going next door to the Starbucks to their, now desperately-needed, restroom.
Shoving my hair into a hat but not finding sunglasses, wearing sweats and the same silk blouse from the night before, predictably-smeared mascara sideways off my face, I barreled through the Starbucks’ side door hoping to escape anyone’s notice.
Bad plan because I slammed full-body into Kathy Ireland.
She must’ve been in some kind of meeting because even supermodels don’t dress in business suits early morning on a Saturday to get coffee. Even models dressed in fabulous, clearly-not-a-drinker, form-fitting, business suits.
Now, I’m a tall 5’8″ but when I’m slouching in embarrassment and desperately needing to pee, I can lose an inch or two. At 5’10” plus 4” heels, Kath, as I like to call her now, make her stand out like, well, a supermodel.
And, of course, she is even more stunning in person.
She possesses such a confident presence that even someone body-slamming into her at 8am doesn’t seem to phase her.
She needlessly apologized to me. I gasped something inaudible.
Then, having to wait for the bathroom about 3 feet away from the aforementioned supermodel-body-slamming-incident-in-front-of-witnesses added to it becoming quite a bit more uncomfortable.
Yeah, it was like this. Warren Buffet, Kathy Ireland, and Bill Gates.
Except that it totally wasn’t and it was really uncomfortable.
No, wait? Not uncomfortable. Awkward is the word I’m looking for. Definitely awkward.
I write awkward tales. Mostly funny. Usually true. Often truthfully funny.