Secret Fans

She glanced around surreptitiously, and then looked straight into my eyes.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but …”

She glanced around, again.

And whispered

“Are you the Darlene Hodge that used to write that really funny column in the Hibbing Tribune, years ago?”

I was a bit startled.

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Oh how exciting. I thought that you might be. I loved your column. I read it every week. You are so funny.”

I was totally taken aback. 

“Well, thank you,” I stammered. 


“I didn’t want to say anything to anybody, you know, in case you wanted to be here incognito.”


Yes. Indeed. Incognito.

So as not to be mobbed.

By admirers and such.


I thanked her profusely for considering my feelings for privacy.

It is difficult when fans are constantly oohing and awing.

And clamoring for your autograph.

And shouting out that you have entered a room.

And pointing you out to others. 

 It can be very tiring. Draining, even.


So I have heard.

I wouldn’t know.


My fans are all very polite. 

And thoughtful.

And considerate.


Lucky me.