I am not a social media trend follower.

I am, however, a follower of celebrity gossip.

I can remember my grandmother dishing with me about celebrities when I was a kid.

One evening, my grandmother and I sat down to an episode of Falcon Crest.

“Jane Wyman,” my grandmother said, “used to be married to the president.”

Which is why I was the only fourth-grader who laughed out loud at the Jane Wyman as First Lady joke when Back to the Future first hit theaters.

My grandmother was the one who filled me in on all the Kennedy gossip. She told me about the love lives of Vivien Leigh and Clark Gable. I knew everything there was to know about news anchors. Game show hosts. Soap opera stars.

So while I don’t buy celebrity gossip rags, I do have a favorite nepo baby (Gwyneth), I pick sides in divorces (Jen vs. Brad? Team Jen all the way. Brad vs. Angelina? Team Brad. What can I say? I’m mercurial like that), and a mental list of how many times a given celebrity has been married.

So when I spotted sea moss while away with my husband this weekend, I explained its importance to Hailey Bieber’s $18 smoothie.

Then I explained that Hailey Bieber is Justin’s wife and one of the Baldwins’ kids.

“Not Alec’s,” I said.

My husband doesn’t share my celebrity gossip gusto. All he really wanted to know was if I wanted the sea moss.

Speaking of celebrity gossip gusto, he and our son are vehement deniers of my only celebrity sighting.

See, years ago, I was walking into a Bucks County Starbucks when I spotted Eddie Vedder sitting out front.

“Nah,” I thought.

But then I thought again.

Pearl Jam had just finished performing in Philadelphia.

As they headed to their next concert stop, where would Eddie Vedder want to stop for coffee? Seattle-bred, ’90s flannel-wearing Eddie Vedder?

Exactly.

But. Navigating a tour bus in Philadelphia is, I imagine, impossible.

So where would the most conveniently located Starbucks be for a hometown boy looking for a familiar cup of joe?

Yeah. Bucks County.

Also, I’ve never seen anyone in Bucks County in yellow sunglasses and a suede fringe coat.

So I looked again.

Yep. It was Eddie Vedder.

And I could see it in his eyes. He knew that I knew. And he was bracing to give me the gentle rebuff.

So I did Eddie Vedder a solid. I like Pearl Jam but they’re not, well, my jam. Not enough to interrupt a dude enjoying a cup of coffee, alone in the morning sunshine, in sleepy Bucks County.

I kept walking.

You’re welcome, Eddie Vedder.

“That was not Eddie Vedder,” my husband said.

My son, too.

Just like his father in every way, except one-eighth his size.

It was Eddie Vedder.

So you understand what little interest my husband had in Hailey Bieber and her sea moss smoothie.

The sea moss I’d spotted was sold at a pop-up shop in the outdoor market of our vacation town. The shop also sold spices. My husband — the hunter and apt chef — had no problem tossing some sea moss in with his spice purchase.

“Would you like it raw or prepared?” the proprietor asked me.

Well, I don’t know. Celebrity gossip never shares details like that.

I mean, nobody ever talked about Eddie Vedder at the Bucks County Starbucks, either.

But “prepared” sounded better than “raw” to an abominable cook like me.

I was handed a small Tupperware of gelatinous, frozen goo.

I hesitated. Did it have to stay frozen? I couldn’t guarantee it would remain that way for my flight home.

But, well, now I really wanted that Hailey Bieber smoothie.

“Twelve dollars,” the proprietor said.

I hesitated again. Twelve dollars for a tiny tub of crystallized, quivering jelly so I could have a smoothie created by a celebrity I A) don’t care about and B) could be the parent of felt steep.

But I was in this now.

Also, my husband was being epically sweet in his offer to purchase the sea moss for me. And he was just hours away from offering to pay for my rental of Robocop.

If he’d just agree that it was Eddie Vedder I saw at Starbucks, he’d be perfect.

My husband, that is. Not Eddie Vedder. I don’t know that I could ever find a man in yellow sunglasses and a fringe jacket perfect.

On the morning of my flight, I wrapped my sea moss in the ice bucket’s plastic liner, then in the hotel’s laundry bag. I hoped the double layer of insulation would forestall defrosting over my short flight home.

When TSA flagged my purse, I figured it was for my glasses case. It has a faux gold trim notorious for triggering metal detectors.

Had I skipped the sea moss and refrained from hanging at Starbucks with Eddie Vedder, I might have enough money for a glasses case trimmed in actual gold.

But we all make choices in life.

Now, you have likely figured out what eluded me until the moment it happened.

Which is that TSA confiscated my sea moss.

“What is this?” the TSA agent asked.

“It’s, um, sea moss?” I said. “Hailey Bieber puts it in her smoothie.”

I cannot tell you how many layers of not caring that TSA agent had for Hailey Bieber and her sea moss.

“It’s over three ounces of gel,” the agent said. “Do you want to put it in your carry-on and check it?”

Well, no. Because then I’d be paying $47 for sea moss.

Who am I, Hailey Bieber?

So we left the sea moss behind.

“We are completely booked for this flight,” the gate agent said as we settled in our seats. “We need 30 volunteers to check their bags. There will be no charge.”

Well, at least I’ll always have Eddie Vedder.