I was at a Dunkin Donuts this morning chatting with my friend who mans the drive-through window when she looked at me funny and said, “hey, you’re famous aren’t you? I read about you in the newspaper this year.” I said I was not famous, but I was an author and it was probably me in the paper, and she yelled to the other workers there, “hey this guy is a celebrity, and he’s my nicest customer!” I blushed. She gets a signed book first thing on Friday, when I go back to Saratoga.
  Moments like that are curious, in that I see myself through a slightly different prism. In my life, I never – ever- think of myself as a celebrity, or somebody someone ought to be excited to meet.
  Still, people react differently, and it does come up, all the time. Somebody invited us to dinner, and I went, and after a few minutes they turned a bit awkwardly and asked where my dogs were. I was puzzled. “Well, we really wanted to meet your dogs,” they said. Odd, I thought. Why would I bring my dogs to dinner? Then I got it.
  It just comes up.