Nobodies

"Excuse me, but I am a huge fan," I said, interrupting a gentleman dining alone at a table nearby.  "If you're an actor, you must want the attention, so here I am to bug you," I reasoned.  "Without you we'd be nobodies," said the tall, handsome man I was in the process of accosting at The Ranchmen's Club today.  He rose, smiled a huge smile, took my hand and caressed my shoulder. 

I nearly fainted. 

"Don't bother the guy," said B adopting the usual "Canadian" attitude.  "If you don't ask, it won't happen," I replied.  So, over I ventured -- after first applying fresh lipstick -- and said, "Could I have my picture taken with you?"  It was actor and singer Tom Jackson.  "Of course," he graciously replied, leaving his lunch, rising and leading me to the lobby, where I gave one of the waiters my phone and asked him to take the shot.  "I know I am bothering you, but you will never see me again," I said as I requested yet another couple of shots.

So, thanks to my brashness, here are a few snaps of me and Tom Jackson:

 

 

The guy is so tall!  I hadn't realized that.  And so polite.  Shamelessly, I told him my great-grandmother was a Mohawk from Tyendinaga Reserve in Napanee.  It's a sin how I use that to my advantage when it suits, yet mercilessly criticize the natives whenever I want.  By the way, Mr. Jackson proudly sported his Order of Canada pin. 

 

It was quite a lunch.

 

Footnote:  Tom Jackson is Metis.  His mother was a Cree and his father an Englishman, which may account for his impeccable manners (insincere apologies to anyone who may be offended).  He is a year younger than I.