violated

i guess i should have seen it coming. i mean, when i think of david sedaris, sensitive and uplifting aren't quite the first two terms that come to mind. but when i heard he was coming to boise to promote his new book, i knew i had to check it out.

so, today after class, i unknowingly headed off to my local Hastings (an incredibly unlikely place for a new york times best selling author to show up, but i'm not complaining). i picked up a copy of the newest book. i laughed at the reading. after all, making coffee out of water from an arrangement of wildflowers is unceasingly humorous. i find david sedaris's voice oddly soothing--perhaps because i have grown so accustomed to listening to it on This American Life? whatever reason for this comfort, i felt i had made a great decision for my evening.

i have never tried to get a book signed before (i'm usually cranky by the time they get to signings), but i had this delusional idea that it may have actually gone quickly, so i got in line. for two and a half hours. this is in addition to the forty-five minutes spent standing during the reading (not that i--and my feet!--am/are complaining). luckily i had my dear friend jana, my cousin jake, and his beautiful wife rachel to keep me company.

i finally got to the front of the line, with pained feet and emotinal fatigue, and realized i didn't really have anything to say. no worries, david took it from there. staring relentlessly at my chest, he simply said, "Rebecca, what nice breasts you have."

"what?" i reply incredulously

"well, i mean, i'm no expert or anything" (in case you don't know, david sedaris is gay) "but you have seriously nice breasts."

he has still failed to look at my face once.

i instantly turned bright red. at this point in time, jake and rachel started cracking up. everyone in line can tell how obviously uncomfortable this comment has made me, so they all start laughing. i don't think i had ever been this mortified in my life... until he started writing this astute observation on the title page of my book.

"please," i plead, "please don't write that in my book."

"rebecca," he said, "they won't be nice forever..."

and so it is. eternally preserved for my grandchildren to lovingly cherish generations down the road. i don't think i have ever experienced such a mixture of mortification, flattery, and hilarity.