It was a normal spring day in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina. I was leaving work with my arms full of packages and mail to drop in the mailbox. I hear a man say, “How are you?”
Not paying attention, I say, “Hey, I’m good. How are you?”
I drop the letters in the slot and look up. My heart skips a beat. My breath catches in my throat. My palms become instantly clammy. I realize the man’s voice that had not mattered to me 3 seconds earlier belonged to the one, the only, Bill Murray. He was just out for a bike ride and said hi to ME.
(For those of you who don’t know, I am in LOVE with Bill Murray. In an I want him in my family kind of way—not in a creepy romantic older man, younger girl kind of way. I would get his face tattooed on my body if my husband would let me… He won’t.)
I always swore to myself, if I ever met Bill Murray, I was going to be cool. Like, “Sup Bill. Loved your last movie.”
Before I could stop myself, I was screaming: “You’re Bill Murray!! I LOVE YOU SOOOOOO MUCH!!”
I have never seen an old man pedal a bike so fast in my life. He was gone; my dreams were forever crushed.
Bill, if you read this, I am sorry for my behavior. If I ever meet you again, I’ll do better, I promise.