I met my hero. My hair looked like a wig. It did not start well.
“You don’t. Understand.”
I was using that gritted-teeth, quiet but solid tone of voice. The kind you use when you really, really want to scream your words out, but know that you can’t. In this case, I couldn’t because:
(1) I understood that she was just being nice and trying to help, and
(2) on some level, deep below the surface, I knew I was being wildly unreasonable.
It was Saturday night, and I was getting ready to meet my hero…
