Tag: #92ndstY

Besotted by a Short Man

Besotted by a Short Man

Well, I did it. I drove to New York, I sat through an hour or so long interview of Marty and Alan Zweibel, I jumped up as soon as the show was over and was 3rd in line to have the one and only Martin Hayter Short sign my book. If you have read anything in the blog prior to this post, you know I have met him twice before. Once when I was young and all I wanted was an autograph and once last Winter when I was too overcome with shock or emotion or excitement to even speak to him. Ever since that day last February when I saw him and couldn’t speak I have regretted not telling him how much he means to me. Not like he cares obviously, I’m no one special to him, but to me, he is my everything. Now let me think that statement through, I have a life, I have children, and family, and friends, I’m not some crazy woman with a house full of cats all named Marty. So to say he is my everything can be “read” wrong I guess? He is what cheers me up when I am sad. He is what calms me down when I am stressed. Thinking of him in the movie Clifford at the dinner table “Look at me Like a Human Boy” is what played through my mind and kept me from breaking down in uncontrollable tears at a recent funeral. (I like to have my crazy emotional outbursts privately like a lady should) So when I say he is my everything I don’t mean it like a crazy person who has nothing else to live for, I have plenty, he is just the happy place my mind wonders to when it needs a little escape from how hard the world wants to punch me every now and then.
Anyway, sheesh ramble on much? I got in line behind some lady, and a guy who had 5 books and didn’t even attend the show and was clearly just there to get them signed so he could sell them. Me however, me and my book drove up from Kentucky in an agonizing 10 hour ride, we made it through a night at a hotel I swear I don’t know why I wasn’t murdered in (more about murderville later)and me and my book made it to 3rd in line. I had rehearsed what I was going to say had I had a chance to speak to him. I actually wrote down bullet points on my hand because I knew(given my history) I would go blank and stand there looking like an idiot.
So I walked up to him, handed him my book and as he opened it he asked my name. I told him it was Mandy and as he was writing Hi Mandy!! in the book I leaned in and said
“You know in the book how you talk about meeting Frank Sinatra and telling him he had no idea and no concept of how huge a fan you were?”
He said “Yeah” and look quizzically at me
“That’s what this moment is to me. You are my Frank Sinatra” I replied. I could tell he appreciated the comment but my mind got the better of me and I cant even begin to tell you what he said in return. I asked if I could get a picture to which he stated “Sure” and stood up from his seat. I asked “Can I touch you” to which he replied “sure please do” I laughed and hugged the man like I was hugging the most beloved treasure Id ever seen or come near, (aside from my own precious angel children of course, but I hug them all the damn time and this story isn’t about them its about Martin Short so get off my back with my choice of words) I got my picture. I got my moment, I got to tell my hero, the man of my dream just how much he really means to me.
The downside of this story however is that I walked away alone to the most horrific hotel I’ve ever seen and he got in a cab and drove off and Ill never see him again. But hey… I had my moment.