Apologies to those of you who don’t watch Lost. Also apologies to those of you who have never been so obsessed with a meaningless question that you are simply not able to move on with your life until you have an answer. This post is going to bore the crap out of you.
So I was watching Lost the other night, and this new character appears on the screen for just a few minutes. It’s hard to get a good look at this woman because she is messy-haired and muddy faced and her clothes are in disarray so that her boobs are on ample display (I do get distracted by boobs, and no, I do not know what that’s about). The woman looks this way because she is stranded on a jungle island and may or may not have just been in a plane crash and may or may not have watched as her many traveling companions were killed by the black smoke. Duh.
So anyway, I can’t get that good a look, and then she is gone. I stared at the screen for a few minutes as the credits rolled, and then I said, “You know who that was? I think it was the woman from L.A. Law.”
To which Mark absently replied, “Mmmmm hmmmm,” which is Mark code for, “I am so not actually paying attention, but I am guessing that I do not give a shit about this conversation, and so non-committal noises of agreement are in order.”
So I made a mental note to Google it the next morning.
I don’t know how other people’s mental notes work, but mine tend not to be filed in any organized or easily retrievable fashion. Which means that I woke up the next morning with no memory whatsoever of this particular mental note. It didn’t rise to the top of my consciousness until later in the day, as Mark and I were out getting coffee.
We went to this place called Moonstruck Café. They sell the most amazingly adorable little chocolate truffles in the shapes of animals, bugs, flowers . . . so cute. I’ve never had one, because they are also really expensive, and if I’m going to spend $3.00 on a single piece of chocolate candy, it’s going to have to be the size of a brick.
So yesterday, they were running a St. Patrick’s Day Special, whereby each customer got to reach into a vase and select a coupon. Mark reached in and got a “50% off your total purchase” coupon, and I’m thinking, “This is it! We’ll buy out the entire candy selection at a 50% discount, set up shop on the sidewalk outside, undercut the store on price . . . it’s genius, I tell you!”
But I neglected to say any of that out loud, and Mark simply ordered our coffees, handed over his coupon, and saved $2.00.
I didn’t even get a single (still outrageously priced) half-off truffle.
We’re sitting with our coffees, me with a latte, Mark with some chocolate girly concoction that was covered with St. Patrick’s Day green whipped cream and sprinkles. I’m still mourning my lost opportunity to become a chocolate mogul, and also I’m cranky that I didn’t get a truffle. So I’m a bit sulky.
And then the woman from Lost pops back into my mind. Like a steel trap, my mind.
So I whip out my iPhone and start typing in searches. Approximately eight billion people are obsessed with Lost, and so I know I will find my answer quickly. Strangely, the identity of this particular actress does not seem to have caught anyone’s attention. I keep searching. I find two different people who seem to be under the impression that the actress was in fact Tina Fey.
And then I find this link to a blog dedicated to all the random things a woman named Carly has googled recently. Which I think is just awesome. And her fabulous site has a picture of the character from Lost which identifies the actress as Sheila Kelley. I type in Sheila Kelley, and there she is . . . L.A. Law’s Gwen Taylor.
I’m sure she has done other things in the last 20 years which I have missed (including, according to Wikipedia, becoming something of an expert on pole-dancing), but I haven’t seen her since L.A. Law.
I am so excited that I am right that I shove my iPhone into Mark’s face, crowing about my brilliance.
Too loudly, because the small group of very bad tangled-yarn knitters to our right turns to glare. As though I have somehow caused the dropped stitches that even I can see are threatening the integrity of their washcloth projects.
I hold up my phone and whisper, “I was right!”
I sink back into my chair with my coffee and no truffle. I was right. Deep contentment, and the feeling of accomplishment I always get when I feel I have managed to keep the Alzheimer’s at bay for another day.
I need to start carrying confetti around with me for moments like this. Toss it up in the air and onto my head when I am feeling brilliant. I share that idea with Mark.