I was fairly calm as I approached the table.  The organizers had handed out slips of paper for us to write out what we wanted David to sign as our autograph and Jim and I argued about this earlier. 

“I don’t care about our names,” I said.  “I want his name, he’s the writer.”

“I want him to see your name,” Jim said.  “It’s a good conversation piece.”

Jim was in front of me so I darted around to the other side as he handed David Sedaris the cover and slip of paper. 

“Did you get some candy?”  David asked, referring to the notorious “Fuck-It-Bucket” sitting on the edge of the table.

Jim reached in and took some, then chuckled, “It’s not yours is it?”

I envisioned David a little smaller and mouth stuffed like a hamster with chocolate goo oozing out from the sides.

“It really does give me a headache,” he muttered through the chocolate. 

When a recent hurricane damaged my father's house, my brother  rushed over with a gas grill, three coolers full of beer, and a traditional "fuck-It Bucket"- a plastic pail filled  with jawbreakers and bite-sized candy bars. ("When shit brings  you down, just say, 'fuck it' and  eat yourself some motherfucking candy.")~You Can't Kill the Rooster

“Dreama,” I said.  Jim’s plan had worked. 

“I’ve never heard that name before,” David said to my audio book cover as he scratched his black Sharpie across it. 

I had a hard time believing that and wanted to tell him.  Someone who has lived in New York, lives in Paris, and has traveled all over the place signing autographs has never heard that name?  Oh, how you flatter me, David. 

“Where are you from?” he asked, barely looking up. “Columbus.”  I said. “How do you spell Columbus?” “C-o-l-u-m-b-u-s,” Jim said. “And today was Columbus Day.”  David glanced up at us as he wrote something else. “That’s right,” I said. “Are you married?” “Yes.”  We said. He glanced up and opened his mouth, then shut it promptly before what he was about to say came out.  He opened it again and announced, “I can say this because I'm a homosexual."  I started to laugh. "No really,” he verified, “I can. You're very pretty.” I thought the disclaimer was a nice touch.  I smiled and said, “Thank you.” Jim wailed dramatically, “He didn’t say I was pretty!!” I think it made David uncomfortable.

I spend all day lying to people, saying, “You look so pretty.  Santa can’t wait to visit with you.  You’re all he talks about.  It’s just not Christmas without you.  You’re Santa’s favorite  person in the entire tri-state area.”  Sometimes I lay it on real thick.  “Aren’t you the princess of Rongovia?  Santa said a beautiful  princess was coming here to visit him and he said she’d be  wearing a red dress and that she was very pretty…but not  stuck up or two-faced.  That’s you isn’t it?” ~The SantaLand Diaries