Dribble
I'm so good at making first impressions.
This weekend, I was back in Columbus for work and Gus and Val were kind enough to not only house me for the weekend, but provide me with entertainment as well. On Friday, Gus and his friends took me to a rock show--and ended up putting on quite a show of their own. Then on Saturday, we went over to a small birthday party for another of their friends.
I was feeling sassy, so I brought out the new skirt I had bought the weekend before. I had fallen madly in love with it at TJ Max--knee length, white linen with a faux "fold-over" panel hemmed with big, round silver sequins. It sounds hideous, but it's actually quite adorable. I busted it out. I fussed for 10 minutes over what to wear with it. When I came down the stairs, ready to go out, Val complimented the skirt and I almost--almost--made a joke that wearing white is a dangerous game for me.
Ah, the irony.
Over at Bart and Hope's gorgeous house, I introduced myself, chatted a bit about DC, munched carefully on tortilla chips and seven layer dip. I sipped slowly at my red wine, being mindful not to dribble down my shirt.
Then I saw one of their three dogs padding happily around the kitchen. She was so adorable, and I am such a sucker for dogs, that I couldn't help myself. As gracefully as I could, I squatted down to scratch her ears and pat her head.
As I rose back up to join the conversation, still looking down at the dog, I suddenly noticed a rush of red coming down my left shoulder and onto--yes--my brand new, first-time-out-of-the-closet skirt. And since it was red, I was immediately sure I was bleeding. Badly.
I couldn't speak. I think a muffled kind of "ah! ah!" sound came out of my mouth, but I couldn't react to what I was seeing. I was frozen with shock. By the time I realized what had actually happened--that my long curls had settled into my wine glass when I knelt down, sopping up a good deal of liquid before dribbling it down my breast and onto my skirt--the others in the room saw the disaster and rushed to my aid.
But it was too late: Angry red lines streaked down the fabric of the skirt.
We stopped what was left of the hair hemorrhage, but the damage was done. Hope graciously gave me a bleach stick in hopes of combatting the stain, and the stains seemed to fade after initial application. Of course, we won't know until the dry cleaner has his say.
You can't take me anywhere.
This weekend, I was back in Columbus for work and Gus and Val were kind enough to not only house me for the weekend, but provide me with entertainment as well. On Friday, Gus and his friends took me to a rock show--and ended up putting on quite a show of their own. Then on Saturday, we went over to a small birthday party for another of their friends.
I was feeling sassy, so I brought out the new skirt I had bought the weekend before. I had fallen madly in love with it at TJ Max--knee length, white linen with a faux "fold-over" panel hemmed with big, round silver sequins. It sounds hideous, but it's actually quite adorable. I busted it out. I fussed for 10 minutes over what to wear with it. When I came down the stairs, ready to go out, Val complimented the skirt and I almost--almost--made a joke that wearing white is a dangerous game for me.
Ah, the irony.
Over at Bart and Hope's gorgeous house, I introduced myself, chatted a bit about DC, munched carefully on tortilla chips and seven layer dip. I sipped slowly at my red wine, being mindful not to dribble down my shirt.
Then I saw one of their three dogs padding happily around the kitchen. She was so adorable, and I am such a sucker for dogs, that I couldn't help myself. As gracefully as I could, I squatted down to scratch her ears and pat her head.
As I rose back up to join the conversation, still looking down at the dog, I suddenly noticed a rush of red coming down my left shoulder and onto--yes--my brand new, first-time-out-of-the-closet skirt. And since it was red, I was immediately sure I was bleeding. Badly.
I couldn't speak. I think a muffled kind of "ah! ah!" sound came out of my mouth, but I couldn't react to what I was seeing. I was frozen with shock. By the time I realized what had actually happened--that my long curls had settled into my wine glass when I knelt down, sopping up a good deal of liquid before dribbling it down my breast and onto my skirt--the others in the room saw the disaster and rushed to my aid.
But it was too late: Angry red lines streaked down the fabric of the skirt.
We stopped what was left of the hair hemorrhage, but the damage was done. Hope graciously gave me a bleach stick in hopes of combatting the stain, and the stains seemed to fade after initial application. Of course, we won't know until the dry cleaner has his say.
You can't take me anywhere.
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