Dave Barry is my bitch

I met Dave Barry in 2005 and I may not have made the best first impression. It was the first morning of a four-day writers' conference in Sun Valley, Idaho, and I introduced myself to him by letting him know that I was his #1 fan and that I would be stalking him for the entire four days. Then I smiled as if it were just a joke, and he visibly relaxed, and laughed along with me.

That was his first mistake.

On the second day, I attended his breakout session, and discovered that he is every bit as funny in person as he is in print. Knowing that all the authors have a Q&A session at the close of their remarks, I worked myself into a fever trying to think of something to ask him that would be so clever and amusing that he would agree to be my BFF. When he asked for questions, I was the first one on my feet, waving my arm madly for his attention. He nodded in my direction, and I scanned my brain one last time, and asked my question.

"Mr. Barry, I think you and I are about the same age, and since you have remained so youthful, I would like to know, how did you decide to go with the bangs instead of botox?"

There was an outbreak of laughter from the assembled crowd, but it didn't go exactly as planned. Instead of laughing along with me, and then possibly giving me his personal phone number and inviting me to be his protege, Dave evidently thought I was being a rude smartass, and snapped back, "Your hairdo isn't so great either, lady."

I don't remember much about what happened after that. I was basking in the glow of having had Dave Barry actually use me to get a cheap laugh. It wasn't until the next day that I found out that Dave was feeling a little guilty about what he said to me. I found him in the big tent and as soon as he saw me, he started apologizing for his remark. Again I saw an opening to show off my rapier-sharp wit.

"It's OK," I said. "You had no way of knowing that I was actually pretty proud of how my hair grew back after all the chemo." Right about then, Rick told us to pose for the picture you see here, and Dave was called away for his next commitment.

Later that same day, Dave was signing books along with Ridley Pearson, his collaborator on a children's book series. Of course I eagerly lined up with my stack of books. It was when I got to the front of the line that I realized that I had once again miscalculated my remarks. Dave saw me and introduced me to Ridley Pearson in glowing terms, as if I were a saint or something. Then he signed all my books effusively, going so far as to call me a rock star in the end papers of my copy of Mid-life Confidential: The Rock Bottom Remainders Tour America with Three Chords and an Attitude.

It slowly dawned on me that Dave didn't know my delicate sense of humor, and therefore, had actually bought my chemo story as the Real Thing. Sure, I could have ended the whole misunderstanding right then and there, but I figured, why not enjoy the adulation a while longer? So I decided to wait until the farewell luncheon the next day to let my pal Dave off the hook.

Well, as it turned out, Dave and family had to depart the conference a little early, so I never actually saw him again. So as far as Dave is concerned, I am that spunky old gal who, having cheated death, kept smiling even after being ridiculed by my hero.

Who is now my bitch forever.