Mad for it

After you've stared at the faces of the Mad Men cast long enough, you can't imagine that Jon Hamm isn't really Don Draper. That Don Draper doesn't exist somewhere in the 50's, that he didn't really run around drinking and smoking and cheating. That if you were all dolled up and pretty and bumped into him at some hotel, that he wouldn't smile at you from across the room, he wouldn't come over and start talking to you about what a sad and private man he is. Then he would take you into the coat check and...

And then you actually do bump into him at some hotel. But you are more like t-shirt, jeans and really sweaty. And he isn't really Don Draper. But we can still pretend.

Last week my friend Sarah was in town, and as I was picking her up from her hotel, we bumped into the entire cast. And everything felt right in this old Pasadena hotel, and the cast were all in character for a Mad Men junket. Bright red lipstick on January Jones, something tight fitting and bright colored on Christina Hendricks, and Don Draper, in his tailored suit. I mean Jon Hamm. And somehow in those two seconds when our eyes connected across the lobby, and I knew that he had seen me, I felt, for a moment, not like a hot vixen but rather, my inner Peggy came out. I was a scared secretary, with horn-rimmed glasses and a flat chest, holding out coffee for him to take as he walked right on by.

It was just two seconds, but in those two seconds, I could safely say, that I could never be Don Draper's hotel coat check girl.

Jon Hamm, on the other hand ... I am pretty sure I could tap that sweet ass.