Remember yesterday when I lamented my lack of original material? Yeah…well, the blogging gods must have heard me and taken pity on my poor uneventful soul, because they coordinated the following to happen today:
So today I went to a wedding shower. When looking over my schedule for the day, the blogging gods apparently only focused in on the word “shower.” This became clear as we (St. Patrick’s Day Marissa and I) were about 3 minutes from arriving at our destination and due to an unfortunate chain of events, my coffee spilled out of my travel mug like a pent-up stream breaking out of a broken dam. It was essentially what would have happened if the little Dutch boy hadn’t kept his finger in the hole in the dam, only the water was coffee and the Netherlands were my khaki pants. We’re talking a coffee spill of cataclysmic proportions, here; call in for back-up support, because my entire left leg is flooded.
It was at this point that a scenario started playing in my head, as is often the case in my head. It’s a scenario-playing jungle in there. Anyways, I started to see two versions of the upcoming wedding shower. The first snapshot was of people talking after the shower, saying, “Oh, did you meet Beka, that girl who works at Roberts?” And the second was of people talking after the shower, saying, “Oh, did you meet Beka, that girl who smells like coffee? ” When the imaginary conversation went on to include how my right leg was a different color than my left leg, I knew it was time to figure out a solution that led to the enactment of scenario #1.
At the mention of the possibility of finding alternative clothing, Marissa, resourceful as ever, hopped right into action and found a Target 0.2 miles from where we were! What happened in the next five minutes resembled a hybrid combination of The Amazing Race and What Not To Wear. I leapt out of the car while Marissa parked, was hopelessly indecisive in a sea of options, was then rescued yet again by Marissa’s good sense, and tried on a skirt that went perfectly with the remaining portions of my original outfit. The scenario-generator started up again when I wondered aloud what would happen if I walked to the front of Target with my pants in hand, wearing the skirt I still needed to purchase and asked the cashier to scan my hip? A Target employee kindly chimed in that I could just rip the tag out and have them scan it in the preferable unattached format. Thank you, Lord. With a clean outfit in hand and record in-store-out-of-store pace in sight, one would think that would conclude this edition of “Embarrassing Moments to Add to the List.”
Of course, that’s not the end of the story. No, no. Because I’m me, I would drape my coffee-stained pants over my purse and not notice when they fell out during my charge to the front of the store. And an older gentleman would have to chase me down…all the way to the register…to ask if these pants, which I was not wearing or purchasing, were mine? And although tempted to answer otherwise, I had to say, “Yes…oh dear, yes…those are my pants…”
And that, fortunately for one and all, is the end of the story. We made it to the shower exactly on time, where we ate and talked and laughed and basked in the joy of our wonderful, beautiful, soon-to-be-wed friend Christine. And where I was ever so grateful not to be drenched in eau de caffeine.