*Wordful Wednesday is for those of us that like to showcase a photo(s) but that just can’t seem keep our mouths shut about it(them). If you’d like to play along, post a photo on your blog, and let the words roll. Feel free to “capture” my 7 Clown Circus button on the left to link back to me, and be sure to add yourself to Mr. Linky. Thanks for playing along!
So…a while back my dear Angie (whom I just want to hug and kiss and squeeze!) asks if I will guest post on Wordful Wednesday. Now…I am not in Angie’s league…so I panicked. And fretted. And basically had a meltdown. What can I write about that’s worthy of Seven Clown Circus? Seriously?!?
Then Angie suggested a specific post of mine from last year. And I said, “Oh, girl…that is so long and boring!” And she’s all, “Hello–it’s Wordful Wednesday!” I then gave in. For Angie. Because I adore her. And I did warn y’all…it is long. But it’s good. It’s about my close, personal, best friend. Read on…
In August of 2007, my husband, Scott, and I were in the Atlanta airport waiting on a connecting flight to Austin, where we go each year for a boring medical convention. We always make a stop at the airport’s Budweiser Brew Pub because they have really cheap appetizers. (Not to get drunk before catching a plane–please.) We fill up before boarding the flight and receiving the obligatory bottle of room temperature Dasani and Eagle Brand Pretzels. YUM–flight fuel!
There we are, noshing away on whatever grease was being fried up at that time, and in walks Paula Deen and her husband, Michael. They sit RIGHT NEXT to us. Here’s the play-by-play recap of what followed:
Lula: SCOTTY! That’s PAULA DEEN. PAULA DEEN! OHMYHEAD, should we say something? OHMYHEAD they are RIGHT THERE. Get her attention…I HAVE GOT TO CALL MAMA, LIBBEY, ROBBIE, AND THAT GIRL I ROOMED WITH AT 4-H CAMP IN 6th GRADE! (Yes, I was squealing…but in a whisper.)
Scotty: Stop. Kicking. Me.
Lula: What should we do? OHMYHEAD. I’VE GOT TO CALL MAMA.
Scotty: Stop. Hitting. Me.
Because he loves me so, or because he was fearful of being all black and blue for his big speech at the boring medical convention, Scotty leans over and asks, “Mrs. Paula? I’m sorry to bother you, but my wife and little girl are big fans of yours.”
And then our world is rocked because she and her husband reply, “Visit with us, why don’t y’all?”
Um, OK. And can we fawn and stutter and babble and dissolve into a huge gooey mess because we worship and adore all that is holy within you?
First things first: Since I’m introducing my close, personal friend to you fabulous readers, I’ll share the pertinents. Yes, her eyes are really that blue in person, yes, she had some serious rocks on her fingers, yes, her accent is really that thick and yes, she smokes like a freight train. I so love her realness. And I so love her for telling me that I “still sound like Georgia.” Praise be!
Paula asks me about Libbey, because that’s what close, personal friends do when they visit, ya know? I tell her every time we’re in Walmart, Libbey points her out on those overhead TV monitors. Mrs. Paula goes, “You know, you are the second person this week to mention I’m on in Walmart. Michael–did you hear this? I’m in Walmart, baby!” She asks our names and where we’re from. Of course Scotty is all polite and professional and replies, “We’re Scott & Leigh Anne Litton, from southwest Virginia.” Faster than a speeding bullet I interject, “BUT I’M ORIGINALLY FROM GEORGIA!” Because, you know…common ground…she’s my kinsman and all. Or kinswoman. Whatever. It was important to me that she knew I was a Georgia gal, born and bred. Like herself, of course!
We had stopped our eating and drinking by this point because really, who wants to eat airport food in front of THE Paula Deen? But the waitress brings Mrs. Paula and Captain Michael plates full of chili cheese dogs, mozzarella sticks and cheddar fries. I tell her, “The world would love to know that Paula Deen eats like this.” Her reply was tremendous: “Honey, I crave this grease and get it every time we’re at this airport! This is the highlight of my trip, darlin’.” She is a soul sister. Thank You, Jesus. Amen.
By this time other people (hangers on–sigh–so annoying) in the Brew Pub are starting to figure out that Someone Special is gracing their presence. Autograph requests commence and Scotty and I continue talking with Capt. Michael. He had an iPhone (still the new, hot commodity at that time) and when Scotty (my techno-gadget-geek husband…did I mention the boring medical convention we were heading to was for electronic medical records? I rest my case.) inquired about it, Capt. Michael proceeds to not only show Scotty how it works, but also gave him a peek at his very long list of contacts. I attempted a surreptitious glance, but didn’t see Emeril or Giada DeLaurentis’ names.
Toward the end of our visit with our new best friends forever, I ask Mrs. Paula if they are returning home to Savannah. She tells us yes, and that they’d been in D.C. to be interviewed by Larry King. She asks us if we’ve ever been to our nation’s capital and we confirm. Then she shocks us by asking, “But do y’all like it there? I was really underwhelmed. Weren’t you, Michael?” We all laugh and Scotty mentions that we have to get ready to head to our departure gate. Capt. Michael asks where we’re heading and Scotty tells him, “A boring medical convention in Austin.” And this is where Scotty falls in love with Mrs. Paula:
“Please tell me you are a plastic surgeon! I am in need of help, don’t you think?”
Yes. Paula Deen says this to my husband. Kid you not!
Scotty picks himself up off the floor (with no help from me because I’m involved in my own conversation with Capt. Michael about how he’s lusting for an eye lift) and tells her, “First of all, I’m a family physician, and second of all, you do not need any work done, Mrs. Paula.” She gets all gushy over this and I begin to wonder if the Queen of Southern Cooking is going to run off with the Hottest Nerdy Doctor in the World. OK, Paula…I love you, but no making eyes at my man, please.
Scotty asks her if she’d mind signing an autograph for Libbey, and she graciously complies…and I turn to her adorable husband and say, “Libbey would love to have yours, too!” And this is where Capt. Michael falls in love with me, ’cause he’s all, “Awwww, yeah–it ain’t just the wife getting the fame lovin’ here.” She signs, “Libbey–Best Dishes! Love, Paula!” He draws a little picture of a face with a hat and “Captain Michael.” Adorable.
Finally, Scotty asks if he can take a picture with his cell phone and Mrs. Paula says, “Come over here, Leigh Anne…(sigh… she said my name…). You get between me and Michael. You can be the cheese in the sandwich!” I obliged, quite happily. And because I love my readers, I will now share this bit of wondrous love with y’all, previously unseen by anyone not in the Roth or Litton lineage:
And what’s with that flat, lifeless hair o’ mine? Oh yeah…Atlanta+humidity=the reason my hair is now short. Even though I don’t live in Atlanta.
There y’all have it. My brush with fame. The story of my close, personal friend, Paula Deen, as I’ve now referred to her ever since our intimate encounter. BFFs forever. As far as I’m concerned, at least. The next time you see her on a magazine cover, or in the movie Elizabethtown (I love you, Cameron Crowe, but Mrs. Paula outshone even Orlando and Kirsten in this mess of a flick!), or whipping up a casserole or pie on one of her shows, you can think to yourselves, “There’s Lula’s BFF.” And you know, six degrees of separation makes y’all her close, personal friend now, too!
Please hold the applause. But do not for one second hold the mayo, butter or cream cheese. That’s just sacrilege, y’all.
*If you’ve made it this far…well, y’all seriously deserve a big hug. From me. And Paula. I’ll get right on that!
**Since you’ve made it this far, then you are already in love with Lula, too. You can find her here.