. . . and Clint Black.
He's a country singer, and one of the nicest celebrity's you could ever meet.
My mom did some favor for QVC, and in return they gave her two front row tickets to his concert, and the opportunity to meet Clint and have dinner with him before the show.
This picture is a few years old, or more. Clint's shirt gives it away.
I was my mom's guest because I secretly liked country music.
Here is how it all went down.
A few days before the event we received strict instructions written on an itinerary that said, "For your eyes only" across the top of the page. It was sent by secret messenger to my mom's office.
We arrived early as stated in our instructions.
"Arrive at the crack of dawn, or, when the chickens wake up, whichever comes first."
We practiced the secret door knock all the way to the venue.
"Knock on the door like a regular person."
Mom forgot it the minute we got to the door.
We were told to say the secret words as per the instructions.
"Hello, we're here for the concert."
You don't have any idea how many times my mom made me practice saying those words.
We were ushered in and joined the other guests of Clint. We were then herded through a maze of doors and hallways, blindfolded, and holding on to a rope. I suggested that they might want to remove our guide's blindfold or we would never get there. I was almost sent home for that infraction.
After what seemed like forever, we entered a dining room. Our blindfolds were removed and we were told that Clint would not be joining us for dinner as he didn't like what they were serving. I eyed the food suspiciously. It was fine, nothing to write home about, but after that hike we just took, I would have eaten liver if they put it in front of me. I checked the itinerary to see what was next. It said, "Let the food settle for half an hour, brush and floss your teeth, eat a breath mint, comb your hair, reapply your lipstick, and then we will take you to meet Clint." I skipped the hair part and spent the extra time eating mints.
We put on the blindfolds again, grabbed the rope and were led down to the depths of the concert hall to meet our maker. . .well, not really. It felt like it though. We were taken behind the stage and through the closed curtains and put on golf carts one by one. It was just like a ride at Disneyland. Mom and I were separated. I wondered if I would ever see her again. I didn't even get to say goodbye. That's okay, because I was going to meet Clint Black. Turns out, she was on the cart behind me.
We were almost there. The excitement began to build. Our blindfolds were ripped from our heads. A little bit of my hair went with it. I was secretly happy. If anything happened to me, CSI had something to work with. Anyway, we received some more instructions right before we met the Grand Poobah himself. We were told not to make any conversation or eye contact. If we had to, we could look at him out of the corner of our left eye, but our right eye must remain stationary. If he spoke we were to nod our heads politely and smile with our lips closed. Some people took notes. I spent the time thinking of extra conditions for Mr. Black's handlers. Suddenly, trumpets flared, the curtains separated, and we were face to face with the cutest country boy this side of the Mississippi. He smiled. A couple girls fainted. My mom laughed out loud at them and was removed immediately.
We lined up. Single file. Smallest to tallest, as instructed on line 203 of our instructions. I was last. I am tall. Taller than most short people, at least. I watched as each gal shook with delight as they stood next to Clint for a photo opportunity. We had been instructed not to touch him. He has a strict, no cootie's clause in his contract. Soon it was my turn. Clint is not very tall. I was instructed to bend at the knees so as not to appear taller than him. I bent. I smiled. I didn't touch him. I didn't look at him with my right eye. I didn't talk to him. Nowhere in the instruction booklet did it tell me what to do if the camera ran out of film, which it did when it was my turn. There was an audible gasp from Clint's people. Someone was fired on the spot. Another person started crying and begging to keep his job. I pretended like I was a statue. Someone ran to get more film.
That's when Clint turned to me and spoke. He asked me how I was, he smiled, he joked, he touched my arm, he was so nice and so sweet and so personable. I really, really liked him. The person who ran to get the film shot back through the curtains like a bullet and loaded the camera. Clint and I had bonded. We were just about to exchange recipes for possum stew and okra but there wasn't time. Clint put his arm around me and pulled me close. I told him not to try any funny stuff. He laughed. His handlers fainted. We posed and took the picture you see at the top of this post. He took my paw in his and told me it was his pleasure to meet me. I told him he was right. He laughed again. Then I was gone in a flash, back on a golf cart, whisked through the curtain, off the stage, and plunked into my first row seat right next to Mom .
The concert was wonderful and my experience with Clint Black will forever remain as a very happy memory.
Have you ever had a great celebrity experience?