Let me tell you the story. I drove my smart car (she likes to be called Josephine) to Dayton, Ohio for the Erma Bombeck Humor Writers Workshop. Josephine brought smiles all across Illinois, Indiana and Ohio. She has a way with that.

Arriving at the hotel, I dashed in to get my room key before unloading, only to learn that the welcome dinner had started without me. Bewildered, I said, “It’s only twenty after five.” The conference organizer gal glowered at me like I was a dumb blonde (I now feel your pain, ladies). “It’s 6:20! They’re done with the salads. You better get in there!”

What else to do at a humor writing conference than laugh? There was a time zone change somewhere along my journey, but I was oblivious. Call me a dumb brunette. The front desk folks were enamored with Josephine. They let me keep her parked out front, so I could join the dinner already in progress.

I entered the ballroom packed with nearly 400 people. Scanning the crowded room for a table with an empty seat, I literally bumped into a guy with “VIP” on his nametag. I assumed he was part of the conference and asked if there were any seats left. He pointed me to his table right in front of the stage.  

He in fact was a VIP guest, not a conference helper. I ended up with the folks from the Dayton Daily News. They were very gracious about letting me crash their table. Immediately a waiter was at my elbow, with two bottles. “Red or white?” I breathed a sigh of relief and knew the evening was going to be fine.

The entertainment portion of the night began and I had a front row seat. Good things come to those who are late. Garrison Keillor sounds the same in person as on radio, and he was as wonderful as expected. (When you’re Garrison Keillor, folks have high expectations.) One tidbit of advice I gobbled up from the man: When your editor calls, never answer the phone. Always let them go to voicemail.

After the program, GK hung around for book signing. I bought two books and joined the queue for an autograph. His rumpled blue suit and red tennis shoes matched his comfortable rapport with each person he greeted. I didn’t mind the long line; I knew when it was my turn, he’d give me the same attention.

As I waited, I decided the books I bought would make great gifts for two friends who are big GK fans. When it was my moment, I handed my camera over and had someone snap a photo. “Right here,” I pointed to my cheek. (I’d had a couple glasses of red.) GK obliged  and pecked my cheek. He signed the books for my diva gal pals. I decided I wanted a signature for myself. Instead of a scrap of paper, I had him sign my own little podunk book to me. (I always carry several copies of When Life Stinks, It’s Time to Wash the Gym Clothes, but I usually am the one signing them.)

As I’m sure they say in Lake Wobegon, all’s well that ends well. The evening may have started with me being flustered, but it ended on the right note. I got the best seats in the house; I got gifts for friends who will treasure these books; and I got a kiss. So in fact, I made out with Garrison Keillor. I made out just fine.