Starstruck

I've just barely calmed down enough to write about this.  I had the most amazing experience today.
I was leaving work when I noticed a familiar-looking white van parked right next to me.  I had to do a double-take and stare for a second for it to finally sink in.  I KNOW that van. It slowly became clear to me how I knew that van as I read the letters on the side logo: "Antique Archaeology."  WHA???!!  The American Pickers van is right here within my reach?  O.M.G.  I love that show!

Then, I glance into the driver's side window and see him.  HIM.  Mike Wolfe.  Mike Freaking Wolfe.  Mike, I'm on a popular television show Wolfe. Mike, I'm talking on my cell phone minding my own business while some crazy woman stares at me Wolfe.
Holy shit.

I immediately start to squeal like a 13 year old girl seeing Justin Bieber at the mall.  Or, in a more appropriate example for my own generation, squeal  like a 13 year old girl seeing Jordan Knight from the New Kids on the Block in concert at the state fair.  (God did I love that boy)
I then remember Bossy Girl is in the back seat because I hear her say, "Mother, what's going on with you?"
I stutter something that cannot possibly be deciphered except for a high-pitched American Pickers! squeek, hatch a plan, and jump into action.
"Unbuckle your seatbelt and come out of the car with me." I manage.
"But why Mommy?"
"We are going to stall until he's off his phone and possibly even out of his van.  Then I'm gonna pounce."

We then go to the back of the car and open the rear door to pretend to fiddle with things and get something we're looking for.  Bossy Girl is confused, but bravely playing along with her now clearly certifiable Mom.
After a couple of minutes, Mike, gorgeous in real life Wolfe is STILL on his phone.  BG is getting impatient, and it's getting cold. 

I send BG to the car to sit inside again while I try to come up with another idea.  Maybe if I let the air out of one of my own tires I can talk to him....

It was then that I see a coworker walking to her car.  Perfect.  I can go talk to her to kill a few more minutes.  I want to know how her day went anyway.  I swear.  She's a reader and I want her to know that.  I was not simply using you as a means to get to Mike Wolfe.  I promise.

That didn't take much time.  I turn around and he's STILL sitting in the van, talking on his cell. 

OK.  So I probably don't want to walk right up and pound on his window.
I probably don't want to take a picture of myself standing next to his car door without his permission.
I probably don't want to blow him kisses through the windshield.
I probably don't want to draw an I LOVE YOU sign and hold it up for him to read.

I probably don't want to go ahead and get into the passenger seat next to him.

I say all this only because I probably didn't want a restraining order put against my ass.

So, I do the only thing I can think of.  I look at him, see he's looking right at me, and act all surprised like, "Hey!  I just now noticed you're that one guy from TV!"  And smile and wave.  Trying to act casual, but looking clearly like a crazed lunatic.
He politely smiles and waves back.
I get in my car.  And start squealing like a little girl some more.

I squeal all the way to pick up Wee One.

I squeal all the way home. 

I squeal while I tell the Hubby about my close encounter with celebrity.

I ALL UPPERCASE post it as my Facebook status.

I text a friend saying that I'm now in love.

His response?  Why was he even there?

I reply that maybe it was fate leading him there to that exact moment where I'd be, and that now Mike wouldn't be able to get me off his mind and he'd be forced to search for me until he found me again. 

The reply text to that?  HA!

Let a girl have her fantasy, I say!

I love you Mike.  Until we meet again.