On Valentine’s Day, my office hosted a “Love Thyself” Day, where we got to be pampered with such workplace luxuries as noontime yoga, 10 minute chair massages and mini-makeovers. And if you’re surmising that my mishap MUST have occurred during yoga (because downward dog in the conference room really IS asking for trouble), you’ve guessed incorrectly. You heard me right: I made it through an entire hour of workplace yoga without a wardrobe malfunction or anything. Holla. But alas, my luck wasn’t to last.
I went in for my 15 minute makeover with this uber-cool gal who does runway shows and has her own make-up line and puts Jennifer Hudson to shame with her gorgeous looks. She busily begins upgrading my dismal excuse for makeup (umm… there’s more to getting ready than powder and mascara??? Apparently, even 10 years after aging out of band, I still can’t bring myself to regularly wear anything more than lip balm. But that’s a feminine travesty whose merits shall be debated at another time.) As she does this, she starts asking me about Valentine’s Day plans.
I start telling her that The Count and I celebrated the previous Friday, went to dinner, blahblahblah. When she asks where we went, I think in the back of my head “I HATE telling people the name of this place...” It’s this great locally sourced, sustainable restaurant called The Strip Club Meat & Fish. But of course all one can ever get out is “The Strip Club M…” and people who don’t know about it are all “teeheeheheehehe – the STRIP CLUB?! Bet that made your husband happy nyucknyucknyuck…” *sigh* So I brace myself to tell Ubercool Lady about this place and say, “well, we went to this place in Dayton’s Bluff called TheStripClubMEAT&FISH” and she’s all like, “ohhh… yeah, that’s totally cool. Yeah, I mean I’ve heard there are some really great dinners at strip clubs. So what did you have?” And I’m all *shit* she didn’t understand that I didn’t actually take my husband out to a friggin STRIP CLUB for VALENTINE’S DAY DINNER. So I’m trying to explain about the locally sourced, grass fed beef and the ambiance is this quaint old Victorian style house with a winding staircase… to which I’m now realizing I’m STILL not getting the point across and she’s thinking the “entertainment” is dancing on the staircase while I shovel (local and sustainable) cow into my gullet. How do I know this? Because this is when she starts to tell me this story about how she and her gal friends went to SuperSkeezyStripClub in downtown to heckle the dancers and “how damn great their food was”… and I start sweating really profusely, because hey, what else can you do when someone has taken this story far enough to tell me about a time THEY disgraced themselves by going to the skeeziest titty bar in town, and end up mumbling something like “heh. Yeah, I HAVE heard they have good meat, buti’mtotallynotreallytalkingaboutTHATkindofstripclub. Anyway, thanks for the pretty make-up youresuper-talentedokayBYE!!!” Then I totally bought lip gloss from her because I was trying to make things less awkward.
< fin. >
On the upside, my lips have never been so pretty and colorful. So there’s that.
For those of you who are all "but don't you have any recent mishaps to tell us about?" Believe you me, I've had many-a near misses. Why, just today I sent a plastic cup full of limeade (moments previous resting snugly in my hand) hurling through the air, landing dangerously near a prospective employee who was just finishing up an interview. Grace personified, I am. Anyway, have no fear - this shiz happens to me on a perpetual basis, so I'm sure I'll have some shiny new material soon. I'm like a magnet for awkwardness.
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