Famous Fun

I have been having a bit of fun with this dispute with my teenage daughter, Anne, over whether or not I am, "famous."

On Saturday, she had a date with her boyfriend, Nate. While they were gone, I called my son, Phillip, to tell him about how Anne says I am not famous. According to Anne I need to have name recognition with "a whole bunch of people" I do not know and are not my Facebook friends in order to be famous. (Writing this World-Read blog does not count because my readership is miniscule in comparison to the world's population.)

I had been thinking about the problem of acquiring name recognition with "a whole bunch of people" (that Anne will accept) as I was driving when I remembered some fun that Phillip had a few years back with some of his friends putting bumper stickers on their cars that said, "What would Phil do?" It was funny.  But it was also an excellent idea for me to copy. I called to get Phillip's approval to use his idea.

Good son that he is, Phillip welcomed me to use his idea. He also told me that he thinks I am famous. (So do the workers at The Old Country Buffet, if you recall from my previous post.) After all, all of his friends know who I am. [See now, Phillip knows how to suck up to his old mother. But can Anne take a lesson from her big brother? Obviously, she needs to learn the hard way.]

That evening, Phillip was online chatting with Anne, telling her to be good to her "famous mother." She laughed. He copied and pasted the definition of "famous" to her but, like she did with me, she just snorted and said, "She's not famous." The more he asserted himself, the harder Anne laughed.

Yesterday, I ordered my bumper stickers. They will be here in about two weeks and I already have a few people who will put them on their cars. Today, it cost me about $3 to print up some yellow Community Service Messages. They are now posted in several local grocery stores and gas stations. I will likely spend most of the day tomorrow posting more.

According to Anne and Nate's definition, all I need is name recognition from a "bunch of people" I do not know. Right? Did they say what kind of name recognition? No. Maybe I will be known as, "that crazy author-lady whose daughter thinks she is not famous." We will just see.

Tonight, I took Anne out to Cici's Pizza in Milwaukee. (She owed me from Saturday.) When she went to the restroom, a manager came past our table to ask if everything was alright. I took the opportunity to clue him in to the joke and ask that he return to our table asking if I am that "famous author," after Anne came out of the restroom.

The manager, Brad, laughed. He was up for the fun and came back to our table a few minutes later, asking if I was that "famous author" who writes A Writer's Blot. Ahh, but Anne was too smart for us. She had seen him by our table as she exited the restroom and she suspected what was going on.

Tomorrow shall be another day on the quest for infamy. Stay tuned for updates as the saga continues. . . .