How Lowe Can You Go? Part 2

If you missed Part 1, please click here. You’ll need to catch up. I’ll wait.

This is it. This is the exact poster that hung on the back of my door.
This is it. This is the exact poster!

I dropped my arms in total disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. I had to take matters into my own hands. After all, I had a huge poster of him on the back of my bedroom door. He was the last person I saw at night, and the first person I saw in the morning.

I was his biggest fan and I had every right to take matters into my own hands. I just couldn’t let him get away.


I yelled in the loudest outside voice I could muster up, my arms swinging in the air. I looked like one of those air traffic control guys. Except I wasn’t on a runway.

And, well, I wasn’t an air traffic control guy.

Anyway, if you know me you know I have a good set of lungs. I could put Jamie Lee Curtis from “Halloween” fame to shame.


He stopped at the corner where his limo driver was waiting with the back door held open.  With his left foot inside the car, he turned to look at me (remarkably, I might add) and nodded his head.


That’s all I needed for confirmation. Right there in the flesh was good old Rob Lowe. Just like I thought.

At that, I turned on my heel. And as fast as four inch heels in a skirt that allowed as much leg room as an economy seat on a Spirit airline flight could go, I ran.

I ran like my life depended on it.

I ran as if I was Speedy Gonzales going for a pound of the fanciest Swiss cheese this side of the Alps.

You would be impressed.

From where I stood, I could see the shock on his face, the lifting of his eyebrows, the mouth turn in a large “O” shape. I’m pretty sure he could have fit ten Havana cigars in there.

He leaned down and jumped into his limo, but he wasn’t quick enough. I gained on him so fast, his driver didn’t have time to close the door. At that moment I was more proud than when I won a stuffed snake during one of those water race games at the local fair when I was twelve.

I never learned how to dive, but there is a first time for everything. I threw my arms over my head, and with clasped hands, elbows to ears, and chin tucked, I dove into that car better than Greg Louganis during the Olympic games of 1984.

And then I said it. I said those words no self-respecting young woman should ever utter:


(My hand. I wanted him to touch my hand.)

I asked this of him as my body was stretched across the seat, my shoes hanging out of the car door, pointing to the blacktop.

To my chagrin, there already was a young lady seated next to him, and I was laying across her lap. Rob was at the time engaged to Melissa Gilbert, so I was none too happy that he had another woman with him.

I accusingly ask who she was. I had a right to know. Me and Half Pint went way back and I owed her that much.

He ignored my question, and with his head pressed against the far window, he stuck out his right hand to shake and then very impatiently asked me to get my friends and get in, or get out of his car.

My parting words to him were, “We will NOT go to your party because you are rude!” You know, because having a twenty year old jump into your car uninvited was perfectly polite.

But damn, I worked so hard to get there.

Once I wedged myself out of the backseat of his limo, straightened my skirt and fixed my hair, I looked up to see my three friends staring at me in utter disbelief.

It was their turn to pick up their jaws with the roller end of a Bonne Bell Lipgloss.

And that, my friends, is the story of the night I met Rob Lowe. It is a thirty-one year old memory that will last a lifetime. And quite honestly, one that just never gets old.

It’s amazing the ridiculous and idiotic things we do in our youth, without a care in the world.

Would I do this now? As a fifty-one year old, mature woman?

Of course not.

I can’t run in heels anymore.

(Edited to add after publication):

There are a number of reasons I did not go with Mr. Lowe on this particular evening. #1) my friends apparently were not interested; 2) It did not feel right and felt kind of icky, even though I threw myself at him; 3) He was known to be a bad boy and had a bit of a drug habit. I had at least some sense to hang back. In retrospect, I used his bad attitude to get out of it. I really did just want to shake his hand!

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4 Replies to “How Lowe Can You Go? Part 2”

  1. I can relate to this situation because we’re the same age but the humorous way you capture the moment and your ability to do so with comic reflection is one of your many gifts.

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