Wednesday, September 1, 2010
I once heard a DJ from my smalltown country radio station refer to himself as a "local celebrity". I'm actually fortunate enough to have brushed hands with him a few times over the years -- while handing his food through the drive-up window when I worked at a fast food joint in high school and now, while exchanging money at my current place of employment. As if that's not enough to make a girl's heart go pitter patter, last month when Adam and I went to the movies we had the pleasure of seeing a boy from my class who went on to join the NFL and while standing in line for concessions, I accidentally bumped elbows with one of the Osmond brothers!
I know, right? Please try to restrain your jealousy.
Well my friends, long gone are the days of my starstruck wonder, because in a crazy turn of events, I too, have become a bit of a "local celebrity". Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for The Lawnmower Girl!
Apparently over the past few weeks, my story has spread like wildfire. One day, at the grocery store, the teenage cashier asked what happened to my foot. I had barely uttered five whole words when he interrupted me by saying, "Wait, are you that girl who got hit by a lawnmower?" When I nodded my head, he turned to his coworker and said excitedly, "Hey Kara! SHE'S The Lawnmower Girl!" and before I knew it I was surrounded by people, young and old, asking me all sorts of questions and looking at my cast with awe, as if it were dipped in gold and bedazzled with rubies.
People stop me at Wal Mart, the post office, while I'm putting gas in my car -- literally everywhere I go -- always with some sort of commentary about Home Depot, lawn mowers, my crutches or my cast. This week alone, I can't even count the number of people who have come into my work and said something along the lines of "You're that Lawnmower Girl, aren't you? I've heard about you." A high school boy even asked if he could take a picture of my foot once I get my cast off. I told him for a small fee we may be able to work something out.
Before you know it, I'll be running over paparazzi in my drive way and having to file restraining orders against the crazies I've found peeking through my windows. And who knows... maybe soon, rather than accidentally rubbing elbows with an Osmond, I'll invite them out to lunch. You know, just a friendly meal amongst peers.
Then after lunch, we'll head over to Johnny Depp's yacht for drinks.
And just think, years from now when you're reading my name in lights, you'll be able to say that you knew me way back when...