Megan Fox And I

I had just popped into Seaside Luxe, a swank boutique at Hualalai, the Four Seasons Resort in Kona, to lust after my favorite beach girl bling, Mesi Jilly rings, which are made of precious gems and seashells and pearls and cost about a zillion dollars. The salesgirls looked at me like I was a homeless beach transient. Not that I blamed them.

I had just come from the sea. My hair was dripping, my feet were sandy, and my body was slathered in chemical-free, zinc oxide sunscreen. I looked like Casper the Ghost. Plus I was rocking my new, post-melanoma beach attire—a rash guard and oversize white board shorts, the ones my kids say resemble diapers.

“Hi!” I said cheerfully. “Do you carry Mesi Jilly?”

“No, sorry,” sniffed the salesgirl.

Even though the snooty salesgirls were giving me ‘tude, I wasn’t about to scurry out the door like a sand crab. I started perusing the racks like I owned the joint. Luckily the hired help wasn’t paying me much attention anyway. They were too busy chatting up some tatted-up dude wearing sunglasses. Wait—was that Brian Austin Green? Yes, that was definitely B.A.G.

If he was there, I thought, that meant Mrs. Austin Green was in the vicinity, too. Seconds later Megan Fox sauntered out of the dressing room. She was tiny, and wore a cute cobalt sundress, straw hat and a Marilyn Monroe forearm tattoo the size of a salad plate. I didn’t want to stare so I stood in the corner pretending to debate between a $445 fish scale Missoni string bikini, $159 pom pom-embellished Seaton Surf cover up or $325 Chan Luu gold vermeil wrap bracelet, all the while glancing covertly at the famous couple. While Megan payed for her purchases (probably one of everything in the boutique—in every color), Brian stood at the counter singing. He seemed in a most excellent mood. Then again, what man on the planet wouldn’t be stoked if he was married to Megan Fox?

As for me I was feeling anything but fabulous. All of a sudden I felt self consciously sandy and dorky, Snow White in board shorts.

Why did I always have to run into movie stars when I looked like crap?

I put my faux-purchases back on the rack, and headed gingerly for the exit. My sons were waiting for me on a bench out front, beating the crap out of each other. “Guys,” I hissed, “you might want to stop fighting. Megan Fox is inside.”

A minute later the lovebirds slipped out the door hand in hand. Brian was still singing. Tanner released Saxon from a head lock and we sat there trying to look inconspicuous as they walked past. The boys quickly texted their friends about the babelicious Megan sighting, then resumed their pummel-fest.

A week after we’d returned home, Saxon was thumbing through my US magazine. “Look mom,” he said, “Here’s a picture of Megan Fox. It says she just got back from celebrating her one-year anniversary in Kona.”

Sure enough, in a section called “Stars—Just Like US,” was a photo of Megan. She had just come from the sea, looking tan and glam in an itsy bitsy string bikini, her MM tat flashing in the sunlight.

Stars—just like US? 

Yeah, right.

Check out Kim Ratcliff and Chigiy Binell' blog, laughingattheground.com.