I dated a woman who was constantly in the public eye. She was and is a lovely person. For both of us the challenge was the constant barrage of media snooping, suggestions, innuendo, etc. Whilst I cared for her very much, I preferred the peace and tranquility of mountains. She thrived on being caught up in the vortex of interruptions and surprise admirers. We had planned a special dinner at a lovely restaurant, where we sincerely thought we could dine, discreetly tucked away from the public's view. We held hands. Suddenly, much to my shock, I noticed from the direction of a waiter's stand, a small man, bobbing up and down from behind the stand, quickly snapping photos of us together. I politely excused myself and stood up and walked towards the swinging kitchen doors. The cameraman ran into the kitchen. I cornered him. He had his camera hanging from a strap around his shoulder. I grabbed the camera off of him, twisted the long lense off of the camera mount and pulled the rewind crank upwards, grabbing at the film and yanking it out of the casing. All the while, I stood so close to the man that my breathing had fogged his glasses. He couldn't get away from me. Once I had the film, I shoved his camera in his hands and saying nothing, turned around and went back to my dinner date.
The Maitre 'd apologised profusely. I never replied to him. That night I told her that my world was too different than hers and I preferred that we remain friends. To this day we remain so and my children have visited her at her New York apartment, although she resides officially in California. It brings back nice memories whenever I see her on television or in cinema. But to this day, I'm glad I made the decision I did.
Fr Bill