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So, we're heading to the airport, a car pulls up alongside us. Two women are gesturing for us to roll down the window. "That's my aunt!" the driver was shouting. "That's my aunt, on your car!" Yep. A real-live connection to the Original Whipped Cream Girl. (For whom, by the way, I'd been searching for a long time.) She shouted that her aunt lived in Washington state, and yelled her phone number, which Felicia wrote down.
But something was wrong. The phone number didn't pan out. Maybe Felicia jotted it down incorrectly -- it was in traffic, windy, whatever.
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