“Great, that’s a real compliment!”
I hear this a lot. The insecure part of me always feels like there’s a backhanded insult underneath, like the girls know I’m not QUITE hot enough for their guy to go through with a hookup. Sometimes I think to myself, I can steal your boyfriend. WORRY ABOUT ME!
At this point, I realized that I needed to move the conversation along.
“I think we can just take the pictures now and go about our bear building . . .” The mother was already ahead of me and snapped the first iPhone photo as I was midsentence.
I tried to freeze retroactively into a rictus smile, one I’ve perfected over the years to prevent me from looking like I have palsy in the thousands of pictures that are tagged on Facebook, but I had a feeling it was too late. I leaned forward, “Can you just take that one again . . . never mind.” She had already moved on to the next phone. It was fine; people have palsy. I could look like I have palsy, too.
As we took the photos, the saleswoman texted on her phone, then called over.
“Hey, I just texted my son, and he’s never heard about you. And he’s online all the time.”
“It’s a big internet . . .”
“He’s on there a LOT.”
“Uh, I’m sorry?”
One of the Hot Topics started going Team Felicia on her. “He’s probably one of those online trolls who hate on women.”
“My son is very respectful of women, thank you.”
“You never know . . .”
I could smell the situation going south. “We don’t need to get in a tussle, guys. Everyone on the internet is a jerk sometimes, ha!”
Hot Topic drew back like I’d slapped her. “I’m not!”
Leave it to me to alienate my own roadies. “Oh, I didn’t mean . . .”
The mother taking photos broke in and shoved her kid toward me. “Jenna, get in there and take a picture!”
“But I don’t KNOW her, Mom!” We posed, the kid’s body language screaming of apathy, as a beefy military-type guy came strolling up to the saleswoman with a pair of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle dolls in hand. “Ma’am, can you show me where the nunchakus are?” He looked over at my doll and scowled. “Is that Santa Claus in a tutu?”
Annnnd . . . that was my cue to head for the exit.
“It was nice to meet everyone!” I grabbed literally anything nearby to accessorize my stuffed Santa—because he was not leaving Lancaster naked—and backed away toward the cash register, waving like an idiot on a parade float. “You guys rock, thanks for supporting my work!”
Two hundred dollars’ worth of plastic skates, sunglasses, and mini-electric guitars later, I left the mall. This is what I built, if you’re curious:
Yes, Santa’s holding a light saber.
Then I drove to where I was headed before I stopped at the mall: to meet Richard Branson.
(Okay, I had to type it that way because it sounds impressive. I was technically not meeting him personally. I was touring his Virgin Galactic spaceship hangar on a social media PR invite. But during the event, I stood two feet away from him on up to four occasions, and he was wearing a hot leather jacket and had perfectly coiffed hair. Definitely smiled in my direction. So yeah, we’re besties.)
All in all, it was a completely typical day in my life.
Not.
Based on that story, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to make a stab-in-the-dark assumption: You’re either extremely excited to read this book (inner dialogue: “OMG, FELICIA DAY WROTE A BOOK!”). Or extremely confused (inner dialogue: “Who is this chick again?”).
For the excited: Thanks for liking my work! I like you, too!
For the confused? I hear you, man. The friend who gave you this book does not know you at all. They should have gone with a more impersonal choice, like a scented candle or a gift certificate to somewhere with good french fries, amiright?
But do I at least look a little familiar? Like the girlfriend of one of your cousins? I’ve been told I have a significant-other-of-a-distant-relative quality to my face.
Or just a little bit of Emily Blunt in the eyes area?
I’m not begging, I’m just asking.
Forget it.
I know I shouldn’t introduce my own memoir with this amount of insecurity, but my personal life philosophy is always to assume the worst, then you’re never disappointed. BAM! Highlight that previous sentence, baby! It’ll be one of many quotable life-nuggets you’ll be able to pull from this thing. I’m SUPER good at inventing Hallmark-type solipsisms. Later in life, I plan on making my fortune with a T-shirt/mouse pad/coffee mug company. I’ll call it Have a Nice Day Corp.! because of my last name, har har!