Dolls. Tons of dolls. Tons of dolls in one large room.
Loads of women squealing over how cute they were, how they were so lifelike and ‘Oh my, that one must be a real baby!’. Ugh. How boring.
Sure, I’m a girl, but how exciting can a bunch of old women who are obsessed with dolls be? Not very, let me tell you.This was IDEX (International Doll Expo) 2006, my mother’s way of furthering her doll business, schmoozing her suppliers (no matter how ditzy they were), and acquiring new inventory. The rest of my family (my little sister, my father, my aunt, and my grandmother) were tag-alongs on the expedition into this world of porcelain, vinyl, and yarn. I was especially opposed to going because of all the homework I would have to catch up on, and my level of laziness was going to make that a difficult task to complete.Fortunately, this event was being held in a ballroom of the hotel we were staying at, which was also conveniently located next to the pool.
Our hotel was also nearby a horror convention of some sort which was rumored to be hosting a few actors from the Harry Potter films. My little sister and I were, needless to say, hoping one of the actors or actresses might wander into our hotel on accident, in which case we would pounce when pens and paper poised for signing. Much to our dismay, the five days we spent in the Double Tree were very Harry Potter-less.
Until the last day.My mother’s entourage (consisting of the tag-alongs) were seated at the hotel’s non-complimentary breakfast bar in the lobby when my little sister, Catherine, spotted something by the check-out desk.’Is that — no, it’s not.”Is that what, Cathy?’ I asked, tired and easily annoyed by her lack of elaboration.’I thought I saw Viktor Krum.”You mean Stanislav Ianevski?’ I said, perking up and looking around.’Yeah, wait, Oh My God, IT IS HIM,’ she whispered loudly, ducking behind her tall orange juice.’No way! Holy cow, you’re right! Mom, Mom, look,’ I said, nudging my mother. She had no idea what either of us were talking about. ‘It’s Viktor Krum from Harry Potter, Mom, see?’ She looked again and noticed who we were talking about.’You’re right.
You want to get his autograph?’ she asked, smiling at us. We both nodded feverishly. Of course, neither of us had the guts to go up and ask him for one.
So, Mom volunteered. Bravely, unembarrassed, she walked right up to him and asked:’Are you Viktor Krum?’ Slowly, he smiled and said yes. Mom beckoned to us both; both of us walked quickly and timidly over to him, trying not to look like complete idiots.
‘Would you mind getting a picture with my girls? They just love the Harry Potter movies and all.”Not at all,’ he replied, still all smiles. We got in a little group, he put his arms around mine and my little sister’s shoulders, we all smiled big and got a picture that says — five hundred and fifteen words (or so my computer says according to the word count).Moral of the story: go on vacation. You meet celebrities, I promise.
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