I’d rather be golfing
Before that blessed day in May of ‘02, the closest we came to a celeb sighting in Lakeland was Susan Sarandon’s mom, who allegedly had a house there. But on the very night we held our dance team banquet at one of the nicer hotels in town, a limo pulled up that would forever change all 12 of our young lives. Through all the whispers and speculation about who chose to frequent the humble town of ours, we determined that it was, in fact, THE Aaron Carter. Thrilling, I know.
One of the freshmen on the team had a major thing for Mr. Carter, and though we were headed to play miniature golf in our formal wear, per our tradition, she invited him along. Before we knew it, Aaron Carter was fishing his balls out of the stream and dancing “I want candy”-style around the Astro Turf. It was a magical night.
As ridiculous as this story may be, I have found that I cannot cease recalling it to anyone and everyone I encounter. In my current line of work, seeing celebs is arguably the biggest perk, and by this time I’ve seen more than my fair share. Yet, for some reason, I’ve told the Aaron Carter story three times in the past five days. You can take the girl out of Lakeland, but you can’t take Lakeland out of the girl.
