Charlie Sheen and Me

( queenofourcastle )

Over the last few days,

I have been continually reminded of the fact

that once upon a time,

I met Charlie Sheen.

Seriously.

I met Charlie Sheen.

It was in a grocery store in Malibu.

I was with an old friend of mine, who

had asked me to help her drive home.

"Driving home" in this case meant

driving from the East Coast to the West Coast,

a journey we took

in  a Drive-Away car, a red Mustang convertable,

packed with someone else's huge collection

of shoes.

My friend's "home" was a rather ordinary ranch-styled house

that happened to be in Sheen's neighborhood.

It belonged to a 

a wealthy plastic surgeon.

She "managed" it for him, and

she was his mistress.

All across the country, she kept telling me

she intended to break up with him,

as soon as she was back on her feet.

Seriously.

(Before I go any further with this tale,

I would like to say: 

she did.)

~*~

Anyway, so there was I,

grocery shopping

in Malibu,

on a hot-steamy July day.

Now, I'll tell you:

one of the reasons you have not seen

my face

is because, at my advanced age,

I'm very bashful - in fact I always have been -

and I'm also very self-conscious

of the arti-face

of it all.  At various times in my current life,

I've also been singularly unimpressed

by people who are overly impressed

with themselves.

So I have made no attempt to look appealing

to them.

I was in that frame of mind

when I met Charlie Sheen.

"Oh, look, there's Charlie," 

my friend had giggled,

and I looked,

and there was Charlie.

Given how old I know I was at the time,

I'd wager he was maybe 24,

in shorts,

and sauntering towards the exit,

carrying a six-pack,

and slightly glassy eyed.

 "Isn't he cute?"

my friend squeeled.

He was.

Sort of.

We went to say hi;

he gave me a quick once over,

a wink, and a smile;

I remember how much I was sweating,

how I probably smiled back 

and said "hi" before glancing out

at a gangly teen-ager

pushing carts across the steaming parking lot,

and Charlie and my girlfriend

exchanged flirtatious small talk,

and then we parted.

I will admit:

At various times since then, I have thought

I should have given Charlie a little more

than the time of day,

but I didn't.

Today, though, I'm very proud

of my naieve wisdom,

because now I can make the following

claim, and it is
an absolute truth:

I am a member of a very elite and, by all reports, very very small group:

that being that handful of women

in the world

who met Charlie Sheen

and didn't end up

in bed with him.

(socialitelife.com )