Here is a small snapshot into my life that may not only amuse you, but give you a clue as to my age: Many years ago I attended a Car Show in Pittsburgh, PA, and one of the celebrities in attendance to sign autographs and meet fans was Erik Estrada. If your brow has just furrowed while you place the name, let me tell you that he was the dark and sexy half of the police team that was on a show called ‘CHIPS’ (which stands for ‘California Highway Patrol’, by the way).

Erik became to girls what Catherine Bach (‘Daisy Duke’ of ‘The Dukes of Hazzard’) was to the boys. And the line to greet him was so long that I took one look and told my rather understanding then-boyfriend, Zane, “Nah. The line is too long.” Despite his assurances that he would be happy to wait, I declined standing in that line. I just stood, instead, as close as I could, and watched the girls file up one-by-one to be greeted by that sexy hunk of man. If they were lucky, he even took the time to give them a quick kiss. Each time he did so, every female surrounding him let out heaving screams of appreciation, and a whole lotta lust. The estrogen level in that room exceeded the maximum safety limits I am quite sure!

As I look at my reaction to the idea of standing in a long line to hold the hand of, and hopefully kiss, the tv star that made my pulse (and hormones) race, I am quite surprised.

You see, for the last three Januarys, I have stood in line at a motorsports show for several drivers, each one for at the very least 45 minutes. Tony Stewart was 4 hours. Although it isn’t always the most pleasant thing in the world (especially if my son Joshua is with me and feeling tired and cranky) at times it is actually fun.