For those of you who read the story of my parents' little Maltese, Zhatu, and his exorbitantly-priced hip surgery, I am happy to report that he has come through the surgery with flying fur...uh, colors...and he is doing very well. While the vet bill nearly caused our family to have heart-attacks in unison, Zhatu is much better now and the procedure was a complete success.

Thank you all for your kind concern and advice!

On a lighter note than many of our recent ones, this blog is meant to bring a smile.

One day, several years ago, my ex-husband and I took a day trip to Beverly Hills on the off chance that we might be able to enjoy one day without biting one another's head off. It was a nice, temperate day, and we had a bit of extra money to spend...and so, of course, we spent, and found ourselves in need of an ATM before lunch. I picked the closest bank, a large, fancy building with smoked glass doors and a breezeway. For anyone who may not know what a breezeway is, it is the space between the actual front door and the "interior" front door. I think it is designed to allow people to come in from the wind or rain and repair their appearance before they actually enter the building where others can see them. I finished my business at the ATM while my ex waited outside, and as I went out through the inner door, another person came in through the outer door. (I hope that makes sense...!) Attempting to put the new bills into my wallet, I was looking down and trying to walk simultaneously, and I did not see him. He was apparently much more pressed for time than I was, and consequently pushed the door open with a bit of force. Unfortunately for me, I was just on the other side of that door, and he knocked me flat on my ass. My purse and its contents flew helter-skelter, and twenty-dollar bills floated gracefully around me, making a much prettier landing than I did. With my skirt scrunched up to a rather mortifying position, my butt and ego stinging, I glared up at my assailant. "Would you watch where the hell...." I stopped mid stammer. The man who had just run me over with a glass door was Harrison Ford!

Now, one would think that someone as famous and wealthy as he is would have something to say implying that I was a complete moron for standing in front of the door he had been about to plow through. But to my astonishment, he was not only profoundly concerned and apologetic, but he actually bent down and began to retrieve my belongings for me. I stopped him before he could pick up the tampons, however, not wanting to be humiliated beyond repair, and he helped me to my feet. I could do nothing but stare. He was actually better looking in person, and I remember thinking what kind eyes he had. He smelled nice, too; I just love good men's cologne. As he opened the door for me with a final question as to my well-being, I noticed the woman standing on the sidewalk outside the bank. I found out later that she was his wife (they have since divorced, as I am sure everyone knows), and she graced Mr. Ford with a scathing look. "Harry, watch where you're going!" she expostulated with disgust dripping from her voice. Poised and self assured as always, I turned to her and uttered the first words that came to mind:  "Who's Harry?"

Upon dissolving the cement that was holding his hand to my arm (I believe it was my other hand) Mr. Ford and his annoyed spouse entered the bank and I rejoined my ex-husband. He had seen the exchange, and said that he had stayed away to prevent me from further embarrassment. (I suspect that he was laughing so hard, he knew he'd be in trouble.) But he missed seeing the face of the person who had knocked me over and consequently come to my aid. When I enlightened him as to the man's identity, he only shrugged. "I thought he looked kinda familiar."

I have had chance encounters with celebrities, before and since, (hey, we live in SoCal!) but that is my favorite. Do you have one to share?