Magnum Cum Lately

Years ago, when I was working in academia, my young teaching assistant was bursting with anticipation when she learned she was about to meet my husband. The (in her mind) mythical law school sweetheart was coming by, helping out as a judge for my students' moot court arguments.

When the dust settled, and the unlucky ones who had fallen prey to his relentless questioning from the bench had regained their composure, my young assistant, Jenny, and I returned to my office for the long awaited post mortem. "He wasn't what I expected," she admitted. Thinking she was referring to his intellectual superiority and brutal Socratic technique (so different from my absent minded and hesitant brand of authority), I gave her a bit of an I told you so glare for not believing what I had told her.

As it turned out, her surprise had nothing to do with his behavior, and everything to do with his appearance. "I expected him to look like Tom Selleck," she explained. Tom Selleck!! I was flattered to think she assumed dowdy little old me would have attracted such a hunk, though a bit defensive about what I took to be an insult to the rugged good looks of my better half. (I got over the insult part quickly, and to this day still get a warm fuzzy feeling when I think back to her comment.)

Well, until yesterday, that is. Last night, I was with my mother, brother, and son at the upper east side New York restaurant where celebrities from all walks of life often go for a low key, low profile meal. Despite my brother's insistence that Derek Jeter is a frequent diner there, I've never had the pleasure of gazing at that particularly yummy specimen while shoveling in my pasta. I did, however, recently catch a glimpse of Robert Wagner, coincidentally within days of the news of the reinvestigation of Natalie Wood's death, and I did, once, almost brush against Kevin Kline. But last night, as I pondered my disappointment at not having been treated to any celebrity sightings, I found myself spitting distance from -- you guessed it -- Tom Selleck.

I had been staring in his direction for several minutes, not having a clue as to who he was. Or that he was anybody, for that matter. I just happened to be facing in that direction. My mother nudged me first to tell me Tom Selleck was there. "Where?" I asked, still staring right at him. My brother looked at me as if I had gone mad. "You're looking right at him!" I blinked, and still all I saw in front of me was an elderly, slightly overweight, ordinary guy sporting a ridiculous looking bow tie and, yes, a mustache.

"No way," I insisted, looking to my son for support. He looked at me with pity, and confirmed the identification. And he suggested I stop staring. Omg! Tom Selleck. The muscle bound stud with the chest toupe and the come hither eyes had succumbed to whatever the rest of us have succumbed to. I wanted to call Jenny, tell her thanks for nothing. Whoop dee doo; I could get someone like Tom Selleck. Maybe on a good day I could attract someone really hot, someone who looks like, say, Steven Tyler.

When we got back to her apartment, my mother insisted I watch Blue Bloods with her so I could see that the man in the restaurant was indeed Tom. Ooh, I hate when she's right. I have to admit, though, despite the little bit of paunch, the wrinkles and the touch of facial bloating, he still looks pretty good. At least on television, and, for the most part these days, that's reality.