I was recognized a while back by a physical therapist I had just met. "Aren't you the guy with the blog?" My chest swelling, I replied, "Why, yes I am."
My wife, who I adore, brought me back to reality when she reminded me of the photo of me in the paper working with a patient. I was showing the patient how to swing a golf club and since the photo was black and white it appeared that my pants came halfway up my chest. "You look like Fred Mertz," she said.
"Yeah, I guess the pants do look kind of high. But I know I didn't purposefully pull them up like that. It must have been the bad lighting to make it look that way."
"No," my wife replied, "You always wear your pants like that."
"I do not. You're jealous because I was recognized."
"Oh yeah, Mr. Big Celebrity Blogger. One person thinks you might be "that guy" and now you want to hand out glossy 8 x 10s. I wish I had your class."
"You're jealous," I mumbled under my breath so she couldn't hear me.
And so it goes with my pseudo-celebrity status. I get recognized for what I do and then my wife ensures my head does not get too swollen. At least for now I don't have to worry about paparazzi following me around and posting pictures of me on their websites showing how high my pants may have appeared to look in a dimly lit black-and-white photo, do I?