A couple of weeks ago after my trip to Jiffy Lube, I was all “I taught William Hurt’s neice how to knit, la la la.” This was because while waiting for the Mustang to get rubbed down, I met a nice family, with a father that looked and sounded somewhat like William Hurt, two sons, and a redheaded daughter. That daughter wanted to learn how to knit, and so I taught her. That is the end of that story. So it seems.
But then this morning, as I was walking through the Wal-Mart looking for sustinance before going to work, I saw the Hurt-lookalike (whose name I learned was James). We made small talk for a few minutes (his daughter’s knitting is coming along well, by the way), and I foolishly confessed that he looked so much like William Hurt that I just couldn’t keep it to myself.
Then. He laughed a little, looked to the side, and said, “I get that all the time. William’s actually my brother.”
I stopped breathing.
I REALLY TAUGHT WILLIAM HURT’S NEICE HOW TO KNIT.