I still feel a little bad about Ree Drummond

A moment I had years ago with Ree keeps dropping into my mind, and each time, I cringe a little.

For reasons I can’t explain, a moment I had years ago with Ree Drummond keeps dropping into my mind, like little parachuted army men. It’s been going on for over a month. And each time, I cringe a little, and try to think about something else. 

Ree was the keynote at a conference I attended many years ago. She was in the second season of her show at Food Network and was funny, kind, hilariously self-deprecating-- and encouraging to lowly little writers like me.

I’d just received a lot of attention for the fart story, and that attention made me a bit cocky, entitled, even, to the attention. I was desperate to grow my platform and frustrated at the snail like pace. Sometime after her keynote, I walked in the main mingling area to refill my coffee, when I noticed Ree just standing there, in the middle of everyone, alone. Attendees were all around her, probably thirty or so women, but not a single one spoke to Ree, asked for selfies, or did the whole, “I’m your biggest fan!” thing—all the fussing you’d assume crowds of women would do while a celebrity was standing there, bored, right in their midst. It seemed they couldn’t care less, and it was weird.

And it’s not like Ree blended into the crowd. She’s tall, and in her wedges, well over 6 foot. Her hair is red, her shirt flowery and flowing. She had presence and a gigantic purse.

Instinctually, I ran to her without a thought, wearing a backpack so heavy, you’d think I was trying to sneak Amy Roloff across the border or something. With each step, the backpack rocked my body widely from side to side, causing me to run in swift little staccato beats. When I got to her, I didn’t thank her for the inspiring speech—no, no. I was completely centered on myself and what I wanted to get from her. “Hi Ree! Will you do a Vine video with me?” (Remember Vine? They were sort of like Reels, I guess. I dunno, I barely remember). In the video, I wanted her to insult me. The insult was benign, but she was hesitant to do it, and without saying so, I knew she worried it was a bit too mean. But she did it, and I made sure it was satirical enough to not let her look bad. I remember her as gracious and someone who didn’t think herself famous.

Later that week, I decided to write about the encounter. The way my heavy backpack caused me to lumber toward her like a herd of bison. The way I had to beg her to insult me, and how weird it was to see her alone, while all these women paid her no more attention than they would the hotel staff changing out the coffee dispensers.

When I started the essay, for reasons I still try to fully understand about myself, I wrote, “I’m not really a Ree Drummond fan, but …”

I mean. Okay, fine. Could have been worse. But.

Why did I think it necessary to include that little jab? Not to mention, I actually was, in fact, a Ree Drummond fan. I watched her show, regularly made her recipes, and laughed out loud while reading some of her blogs. But when I dig deep and uncover the saddest, most depressing parts of my humanity, I realize that back then, my too cool for school façade was just an insecure little girl who wanted everyone else to think she was a big deal. If another blogger had a mega following, and not just mega, but obsessed following, some part of me thought they were all cutting themselves huge slices of cake until it was gone, while I’d wither away, starving. And to justify my jealousy, I’d snub my nose and pretend that feeling was just me making a practical observation about the “more successful than me” person’s flaws.

Although to be fair, I lay blame at Ree’s feet for starting the “Let me take 30 pictures of me making this food” trend with food bloggers, so now we can’t even find a simple sloppy joe recipe without being forced to scroll through fifteen minutes of hamburger getting browned along with the blogger’s memoir. With Ree, she was the OG and it was her thing, but more than a decade later I need all the food bloggers to have mercy on me and wrap it up. Do I need to run to the store to get Worcestershire sauce or not?

MY POINT IS - I said I wasn’t a fan because deep down I was jealous of her success and, I guess, didn’t want my followers to think I was some silly fan girl, lest they misinterpret the way I ran towards her like I was 14 and she was N’SYNC.

I hit publish, shared and tagged her on social media, and a day later, the unthinkable happened.

Ree read my post.

And left a comment.

I don’t remember what it said, but I do remember it was kind, funny and generous. I was honored. And sick to my stomach.

Okay fine, “I’m not a big fan” isn’t the worst thing I could have said. But it’s cheap. Petty. The slightest, teensiest little dig. For some reason I get the vibe this kind of thing happens to Ree all the time. In fact, I know it does, or at least- did.

In the early days, Ree invited a handful of bloggers to her ranch, where she served them food, gave them lovely places to stay, and helped guide them with their blogging journeys. An incredibly kind and insanely generous thing to do. And one of those lucky bloggers, went back home, fired up her computer, and talked crap about the entire experience, with several personal jabs at Ree herself. It made me feel gross to read her blog post, but like a gruesome car wreck, I couldn’t stop from rubber necking as I passed by, shuddering at how cruel jealousy and insecurity can transform a human being. What damage low self-image does to our souls.

Such a daily grind to rise above it and be good! Content. And to love ones self just as they are, to believe with their whole heart there’s plenty of cake for all. More than enough. Leftovers will go stale, even.

Why all the fuss?

Ree has long forgotten me, I can be sure of that. But I haven’t forgotten my insecure little dig.

But as I see her all over Food Network, judging bites of cake for a living, clearly she’s having her cake and eating it too. She deserves it.

And, I can’t help, but notice, she’s no longer inviting bloggers to her ranch.

Have we met? I’m Anna Lind Thomas, a humor writer out of Omaha, Nebraska. I’m listed as one of USA Today’s top ten funniest women writers, and author of the best selling book We’ll Laugh About This (Someday) and my latest - I’m Not Ready for This. Once you read them, text me (number’s in the back and I respond!). Don’t forget to say hi on Facebook and Instagram.