We went to Gatlinburg with some high school friends this past weekend. I will post pictures soon, but tonight I must share with you a story. (Don't get your hopes up... no coupon disaster in this one...)
So we were walking down the streets of Gatlinburg on Saturday night when Matt started saying, "It's Jeff Francoeur! It's Jeff Francoeur!" (Jeff Francoeur is his all-time favorite baseball player. He plays for the Braves, and swings at EVERYTHING. Walking is for SISSIES.) Anyhoo, he was saying this over and over again, but the only person I saw him pointing at was the not-so-famous-or athletic-looking guy sitting dejectedly at the mini-golf counter, looking not-so-fond of his job. I thought Matt was delusional. I asked, “Which one?” “The one in the Titleist hat,” he responded. And then, lo and behold, Jeff turns around, and it’s him… really him. Matt was just kind of slowing up and turning in confused circles at this point, not sure whether to talk to him or try and keep up with our group, who were fairly unimpressed with our discovery. (They were all very hungry and wanted steak more than an awkward encounter with a famous person.) I told Matt to go talk to him, that it was a once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing. Matt went up to him and said something along the lines of, “Hey man, I just wanted to tell you what a big fan I am.” Then Jeff reached out his hand, shook Matt’s, and said, “Thanks man. I really appreciate it.” We think he went for the hand shake in an attempt to prevent a big bear hug with lots of blubbering and invasion of personal space (eh-hem, I mean) because he’s such a great guy. Then Matt started retelling the story to all of us, even though we all witnessed it. He was walking as if he was literally on air. He was way more (eh-hem, I mean) not even close to as pumped as he was on our wedding day.
The next morning we woke up, and we were lying there facing each other in bed. “Patrice,” Matt said. (I just knew something was coming about how good my hair looks in the morning or how great my breath smells first thing… but alas…) “I saw and talked to Jeff Francoeur last night, and HE shook MY hand.” (Can't you just feel the romance, people?) “I know babe,” I said. “Do you have to pee before I get in the shower?” (I mean there was really no mood to kill, was there? Jeff Francoeur probably spits and belches and scratches his… well, you know… just like the others. I thought he might find my courtesy for his urinary needs endearing.) I don’t have any Gatlinburg snapshots of Jeff, but I’m sure Matt could draw you a picture or tell you the WHOLE story in much more detail if you would like. I mean, I really didn’t go into what he was wearing, how he smelled, what he MUST have been doing in Gatlinburg, or his projected mini-golf score. There’s still so much he could tell you!
So we were walking down the streets of Gatlinburg on Saturday night when Matt started saying, "It's Jeff Francoeur! It's Jeff Francoeur!" (Jeff Francoeur is his all-time favorite baseball player. He plays for the Braves, and swings at EVERYTHING. Walking is for SISSIES.) Anyhoo, he was saying this over and over again, but the only person I saw him pointing at was the not-so-famous-or athletic-looking guy sitting dejectedly at the mini-golf counter, looking not-so-fond of his job. I thought Matt was delusional. I asked, “Which one?” “The one in the Titleist hat,” he responded. And then, lo and behold, Jeff turns around, and it’s him… really him. Matt was just kind of slowing up and turning in confused circles at this point, not sure whether to talk to him or try and keep up with our group, who were fairly unimpressed with our discovery. (They were all very hungry and wanted steak more than an awkward encounter with a famous person.) I told Matt to go talk to him, that it was a once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing. Matt went up to him and said something along the lines of, “Hey man, I just wanted to tell you what a big fan I am.” Then Jeff reached out his hand, shook Matt’s, and said, “Thanks man. I really appreciate it.” We think he went for the hand shake in an attempt to prevent a big bear hug with lots of blubbering and invasion of personal space (eh-hem, I mean) because he’s such a great guy. Then Matt started retelling the story to all of us, even though we all witnessed it. He was walking as if he was literally on air. He was way more (eh-hem, I mean) not even close to as pumped as he was on our wedding day.
The next morning we woke up, and we were lying there facing each other in bed. “Patrice,” Matt said. (I just knew something was coming about how good my hair looks in the morning or how great my breath smells first thing… but alas…) “I saw and talked to Jeff Francoeur last night, and HE shook MY hand.” (Can't you just feel the romance, people?) “I know babe,” I said. “Do you have to pee before I get in the shower?” (I mean there was really no mood to kill, was there? Jeff Francoeur probably spits and belches and scratches his… well, you know… just like the others. I thought he might find my courtesy for his urinary needs endearing.) I don’t have any Gatlinburg snapshots of Jeff, but I’m sure Matt could draw you a picture or tell you the WHOLE story in much more detail if you would like. I mean, I really didn’t go into what he was wearing, how he smelled, what he MUST have been doing in Gatlinburg, or his projected mini-golf score. There’s still so much he could tell you!
1 comment:
very cool! that's an exciting story for your weekend :)
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