George Stroumboulopoulos emailed me this morning. I turned on my computer and there it was, his name sitting in my in-box! Just kind of casually hanging out like it belonged there. The subject line was blank and the message was short:
“Sarah. How are you? What’s your number? George.”
Oh my god. Oh my god. Okay, breathe. Be cool. Stop grinning like that. But I can’t help it. Yes you can. He’s just a guy. No he’s not. This is pathetic. I am pathetic. What will I talk to him about? I have nothing to say. That’s not true. I have lots to say. I'm funny and cute. No I’m not. Yes I am. I’m too pale. I hate what I’m wearing today. I hope he doesn’t want to meet up after work. This turtleneck is suffocating. I should have worn something low-cut to show off my cleavage. What cleavage? I don’t have any cleavage. Good point. At least my hair looks good. Should I go home and change? I hope he doesn’t call. No, I hope he does. What if he thinks I’m boring? Who cares what he thinks? God I'm annoying. No wonder I'm single. Stop being such an idiot and just write him back.
So I wrote back and gave him my work number and home number. I briefly considered giving him my dentist’s number, my parents’ number and the numbers of at least 10 friends in case he has trouble getting hold of me.
George is in Vancouver all week taping his show. I’ve been calling and emailing the CBC for weeks trying to get tickets (you can read about my quest here). I’m guessing that George is writing to a) give me some last-minute tickets, or b) get me to stop clogging up the CBC’s email system. Stay tuned…