I told James, Regan's friend from London, to infiltrate the crowd and let me know when he'd gotten close enough to lick Plaskett. James let me down, so I took matters into my own hands.
After the show the willowy, sweaty, and unsuspecting Plaskett was standing beside the stage. I politely waited, swaying slighty, for other fans to grab autographs and give praise before I pounced. I don't remember verbatim what I said, but I think it went a little something like this:
Me: Hi, I just wanted to come shake your hand. My boyfriend will be so jealous, he thinks you're god-like but he's too afraid to come and talk to you.
Joel: Uh.... ok. I see.
Me: You were really good, thanks for coming to Waterloo. Your music is much appreciated as you can see.
Joel: Aw, thanks.
Me: (no idea why I said this) I'm so afraid you're gonna get super famous, like really really
ridiculously famous and then I won't have enough money to pay you to come play at my wedding.
Joel: Ugh....
Me: Not that I'm getting married, but y'know, maybe one day. Anyhow, I'd totally pay you like, a
billion dollars to play at my wedding, but you'll likely be all famous and busy then.
Joel: Um... haha (nervously) sure..... (looking from side to side)
Me: Well anyway, I just wanted to say thanks again for playing, you're incredibly good. I forgot to
bring my CD's for you to sign. You should come back... a lot.
Joel: Um... ok. (soft chuckle) bye.
I'm so awesome. I'm never washing my Plaskett hand again.
1 comment:
You're a better celeb-stalker than I could ever hope to be.
Post a Comment