I woke up at 6:30am in a cold sweat, desperate to paint my nails. (If was going to meet Gloria Effing Steinem, I was going to paint my nails, right?) I slipped stealthily out of bed (which I now share with Gretta, you’ll recall), crept into the bathroom, and dug around in the closet til I found that old bag of polish, the one that only makes an appearance on Halloween. Perched on the toilet, I gave my best attempt at a French manicure. It looked hideous. I removed it.

Then I got the kids up, got them dressed, fed, (mostly) groomed, got Gretta on the bus, showered, fed the pets, drove Emma to school, came back home, put on an outfit that made me resemble Elvira, changed into something more business-like, painted my nails an easier shade, got nail polish on my new business-like outfit, changed back into Elvira, removed the flubbed polish and repainted my nails for the third time, decided my hair had dried all wrong, stuck my head under the faucet and tried again, put on the appropriate amount of make-up to enhance what badly needed enhancing but not appear Anti-Feminist, packed my camera (the huge Nikon, not the discrete pocket-sized kodak, thanks to Dave and his Canada trip), packed my big red purse (not the cute little one, thanks to my big huge camera), checked my email, felt my heart drop three levels because of some controversy surrounding the event that directly relates to my family and I promise to address it in a later blog entry but pleasejustletmehavethismoment, checked the rest of my email, felt suddenly faint, stuffed a slice of last night’s pizza in my mouth, thought about how I would surely get it on my person, thought about the fact that I’d be eating pasta shortly and wondered why the hell I was eating pizza right now, grabbed a can of seltzer, got in the car an hour early because I know myself, spent a thirsty twenty minutes trying to figure out how to open the can of seltzer without chipping my nail polish, finally figured out The Spare Car Key As a Can-Opening Tool like my prettily painted foremothers did years ago, immediately got the hiccups upon my first sip and cursed my bad judgment, stopped for gas and thought about telling the guy at the next pump that I was on my way to meet Gloria Steinem but decided against it since I looked So Hot and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, got back on the road, pulled into the parking ramp at the Monona Convention Center and parked in what was quite possibly the furthest spot from the entrance, engaged in some vigorous lint-rolling, made sure I had everything in my big red purse, walked the 136 miles into the banquet hall, got all the way in and down one escalator before realizing I’d forgotten my camera, walked all the way back to the car, secured the camera, walked all the way back to the Convention Center, muttered some uninspired things to the greeters giving me funny looks, prayed my sweaty flushed face would be misinterpreted for a confident, collected glow, and sat down at Table Number Six, immediately in front of the podium. IMMEDIATELY IN FRONT OF THE PODIUM. Got back up to take a picture proving I was sitting immediately in front of the podium. Sat back down.

My table was full of important people I didn’t know, including Sheriff Dave Mahoney to my immediate left. I of course told him about the Dave Mahoney in our family (no, I’m not joking Jenn) and we had a long discussion about all the different Dave Mahoney’s he knows, and how they’re always getting his mail or asking him for more yard signs. I liked Dave Mahoney.

And then HERSELF was there, at the table next to mine, the table with my editor, the editor who calls Gloria Steinem “Herself”. Not seven feet away. She slipped in just as the event was beginning, to no fanfare whatsoever. The violins were only in my head, but they were deafening. I stared at Herself throughout the introductory remarks and, halfway into the salad, I made my move.

Let me stop here and tell you, this was no small thing. I debated internally for quite some time, Jan Brady-style. Do I go over there and make a complete fool out of myself in front of all these important people? Do I quit acting like I belong among these people I’ll never see again (except maybe Dave Mahoney, I’m thinking I might invite him to our next family picnic) and just go over there and meet her? Do I at least wait until after the salad? Gawd, Jan, why are you always such a nerd??

I went over there. She was actually taking a bite of her salad when I touched her back and likely scared the bejeezus out of her. But she was gracious anyway. As for the specifics of the conversation, I have no recollection whatsoever. I just know she was really nice to me. And then I handed someone the camera and she took the money shot. And then I went back to my table of Important People, whose silence I chose to take for jealousy and not condescension because I am a Positive Thinker.

Her speech was amazing. She was beyond eloquent. She spoke profound things with a soothing murmur. She made complicated issues seem doable. She made every normal thing sound better. She made words like “the” and “know” and “kitchen” sound like birds chirping, like gold coins clinking, like Emma laughing….. OK, normally I would just delete that last sentence but I don’t know how to tell you that she just sounded SO GREAT. So whatever.

And then — this is my favorite part — when she finished speaking and sat back down at her table, after the MC gave closing remarks and the event was officially over, about thirteen seconds after, in fact, everybody mobbed her. They mobbed her! It was a literal mob! Flashbulbs popping, people crowding, even Sheriff Dave, even my blessed editor, and I just sat there grinning down into my lap, heaving prayers upward to a gentle God, one who gives me the strength to make a fool of myself when the situation calls. I bet those guys wished they’d gulped down their pride instead of their salads too, then maybe they’d have a picture of themselves with Gloria (holyshit) Steinem.

(And no, I haven’t stopped grinning like that.)

By the way, ladies and gentleman, the groovy chick in this second photo is none other than Brennan Nardi, editor extraordinaire, visionary genius, gentle boss, and generous soul who gave me this assignment in the first place, no small thing as she’s a woman’s studies major and MFG (Massive Gloria Fan) herself. She had every right to keep this interview, but she gave it to me. Feast your eyes on greatness. Send good juju her way.

Ohmygod, you should all call me right now so I can tell you how much I love you. Every single one of you, wherever you are, whomever you are. Let me tell you how in love with you I am. I LOVE YOU ALL.

Good night.

P.S. I will write more on this, like on what the event was, and what was talked about, and why it’s important, and what the controversy was, LATER. Tonight, I’m basking.