Bad shopping goeth before a fall.

Last night I dreamed I was casually sauntering across a parking lot when what to my wondering eyes should appear but booker prize winning novelist Yann Martel behind the wheel of an orange VW van.

"Play it cool, self." I gave him the kind of wry smile that says, "Hello, I am a well read individual. Though I enjoy your work, I am far too cool to molest you with my words."

He drove past, oblivious under the jungle of his hair.

Then, the horror. Did I discover that I was wearing nothing but a pair of huggies? Oh, much worse. Booker Prize Winning Novelist and Very Spiritual Man Yann Martel had just seen me exiting Wal Mart.

And he'll see the guilt branded on my face, as clearly as the l'oreal liquid liner I will have artfully applied, as I stand in the throng of paparazzi tomorrow night. If he deigns to speak to me, what should I ask him?