A Memory of a Shirtless (Male) Celeb

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My mother posted a particular photo last night. (Yes, my mother has a Facebook account and yes, she checks in more often than I do. Crazy, right?) So anyway. Back to that photo. It was taken years ago and in it, she was with a local celebrity. Ahh… That photo. That celebrity. That specific point in time when he and the other cast members of a then prime time TV series spent some hours in this house.

I remember changing clothes in the bedroom. It was nearing dusk. I had plans to hang out in the nearby café. Gulp some coffee and stuff my face with white cheese pizza. I made my way to the front door. There he stood, chatting with my mother and my cousin. I stopped on my steps, suddenly embarrassed. I tried putting one foot in front of the other when a pause settled comfortably among the three of them. My mother and cousin were suddenly lost in their own thoughts. And the celebrity… I can’t even… I – –  I mean… One moment he was just standing there, talking with them and the next, he was taking off his shirt. While he really isn’t my type (and I’m pretty sure I’m not his type, either. So there is no love lost there. Haha.) I found myself all of a sudden unsure of what to do next. I mean, you don’t just go round, whipping off your shirt in front of a bunch of strangers, right? How does one react when a celebrity suddenly just takes off his shirt while he stands there, an arm’s reach from you? I was not prepared for this. I didn’t get the memo regarding instances like this. Should I run back to the house, blurting out a lame excuse? Wait. Maybe I can faint, pretend I had a heatstroke?

And then my mother, with the great sense of poor timing, introduced us, all bright and beaming. I could then sympathize with the proverbial deer caught in the headlights. This is one fact about me: I do not handle well instances that involved a stranger suddenly without his shirt. Oh, dear. Should I shake his hand? Maybe now I can drop to a dead faint?

In the end, we did shake hands and exchanged cordial greetings. To which he promptly put back his shirt not long after. And to which my mother asked me if I wanted a photo with him, still grinning brightly and practically beaming at us.

Moral of the story: When a stranger, one without shirt, is introduced to you it is best to concentrate on that space between his eyes.

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