For the second time this past week Ive had the embarrassment of being mistaken for a huge, Hollywood, celebrity. Sharon Stone.

Now, how cringe-worthy is that? One is a glittering, sexy, gorgeous woman and the other is, well, me: dirty hair squashed beneath a baseball cap, dried horse sweat caked on the inside of my riding boots and built pretty similar to a Pez dispenser.

Its been happening for well over a decade and the only theory that I can come up with is, while I enjoyed minor celebrity from appearing for seven seasons on a successful sitcom, I was nowhere near being a household name, but people had a vague notion that Stone was involved and, because they certainly couldnt remember my first name, the immediate flash that came to their brain was the most famous: Sharon.

I remember keenly this happening for the umpteenth time while performing in Las Vegas. During the day, I enjoyed walking the strip and doing some shopping. In a crowded mall, a man followed me from The Cheesecake Factory all the way to Ann Taylor, continually barking, Sharon! Hey, Sharon! Annoyed and wilting from embarrassment, I refused to acknowledge him until I stopped for coffee and, turning on my heel, hissed, Im not Sharon.

Sure you are! he insisted. Can I get your autograph? I used to watch Coach all the time.

Well, what are you going to do? Dutifully, I scrawled Best wishes, Sharon Stone across a napkin and wondered how he would frown, perplexed, when all his friends raved over his close encounter with such an enormous star and undoubtedly ask, So, is she as gorgeous as she is in the movies?

Leaving television and Hollywood ten years ago and transitioning into radio I thought, surely, these sort of confrontations were well behind me.

But only this past week, as I signed a receipt confirming installation of satellite television at my mothers house, the representative from the company, having said hardly a word during the two hours he labored to get a clear signal, chirped, Wait till the guys see that Ive got Sharon Stones signature.

Not looking up, I muttered, Well, you havent got Sharon Stones signature. I think shes a little too busy to be in Tryon, right now.

And if thats not bad enough, a mere two days later, obliged to put in a personal appearance with Ramona Holloway and Sharon Decker, my co-hosts from a radio show we broadcast on Sundays, I was approached by Ramona, smiling mischievously.

Have you seen this? she asked, tucking a flier into my hand. This was the flier that Lowes Foods, the grocery chain who has sponsored our show for two years, had mailed to thousands of residents in Matthews, NC, to advertise the grand opening of the store in whose parking lot we now stood.

Grand Opening! the flier proclaimed in splashy, bold, print. Meet Radio Hosts, Ramona Holloway, Pam Decker and Sharon Stone!

Oh, dear God. I winced.

Should be a great turn out! she chirped.

My mortification faded by late afternoon, aided by the good nature and laughs of those who strode over to shake hands and chat.

And, I suppose, like anything else, it could certainly be worse.

No ones ever called me Oliver.~I’m Just Saying written by Pam Stone