*Names have been changed to protect the Guilty and the Embarrassed.
Boss* and I decided to go out for lunch one nice day. Boss is NOT a quiet person. (Think of a 6’2″ Nene Leakes with a hell of a brain and a spark plug for a personality.) She is loud, as in the type of person who couldn’t whisper if she tried.
As we enter the restaurant, we are seated at a table by the hostess, but simultaneously see a colleague we know seated with a young gentleman. (herein “Gentleman”) They invite us to join them for lunch. We wiffle-waffle and say “no thank you.” Boss debates with herself and the “me” she believes may express an invisible opinion. I sit in my chair, flash a warm smile, and say “no thank you, we’re fine.” At that moment, Boss says “Oh come on, Glitter,* lets join them. MOVE!” (À la military drill sergeant voice).
I stand. I remove my coat from the back of the chair and grab my purse. I take two steps toward the table a mere six feet away from me, and at the moment my right Calvin Klein heel clicks against the wood floor, I hear, “DON’T WORRY, Glitter, HE’S ENGAGED!” in the loudest voice possible. It’s so loud, in fact, a bull horn would have been more subtle. The entire restaurant goes silent, turns, and looks at us. You could hear a pin drop. No utensils clinking on plates. No jiggling of ice in water glasses. No chatter. Nothing. Nothing but unadulterated embarrassing silence and stares that are ripe with curiosity. Even the waitresses are still, balancing trays of food on atop their hands, staring.
What the eff? Do I look that desperate. Holy sh@!, I must. In the 25 seconds it took for us to move to the table, Boss had already debriefed the well-dressed young gentleman and analyzed his potential to actually take me on a date. The realization then hits me: I now have to sit down and eat lunch with these people. What else could possibly go wrong?
Gentleman now thinks I am going to pounce him like a lion eating prey. I can see the fear in his eyes, and the rigidity in his face; the preparation to the brace of awkwardness. He must think I’m going to swallow him whole as I sit. He appears legitimately scared. This lunch is going SO WELL!
In an effort to restore normal lunching procedure, I drape my coat around the back of the chair. I then drape my tiny Coach messenger purse around the small wooden chair’s finial. I turn and pivot on my left heel, and sit down. Well, I attempt to sit down, and there is NO CHAIR!!! Where is the damn chair!? What is happening? My brain is yelling, “Hey, Universe, SERIOUSLY?!” Apparently the weight of my very small bag combined with my coat was just too much for this chair to handle. It gave up and collapsed on the floor behind me. In my slow descent toward the floor, my awesome cat-like reflexes managed to land me in some Salt-n-Peppa “Push It” video sexually suggestive break-dancing move. I have both high heels firmly planted on the floor along with my right arm; my hips are in the air placing me in some weird backbend position; and my left arm is flailing in the air above me like a solid gold dancer.
I stand up, and gracefully (or what I believe is the most graceful way to maneuver out of the Salt-n-Peppa-backbend-disco position), put my coat around the back of the chair. AGAIN!I drop my purse on the floor in despair and plop down in the chair.
The entire restaurant is looking at me like I am some socially awkward alien. But I can also see each of them trying desperately to hold back loud guffaws. I mean, hey, it’s hilarious when someone gets embarrassed and then falls, right?
I look at Boss and say, “It’s bad enough that you have to make me look desperate, but did you really have to kick out my chair?” The entire restaurant laughs. I feel a little vindicated. Thank God Boss was a good sport about that comment.
Glitter’s Quick Wit: 1 (FINALLY!!)
I later relayed this entire incident to my mother, who laughed uncontrollably at my series of unfortunate events. She asked but one question: “Well, were you wearing underwear?” MOM!!! But to answer that question, I am thankful I was wearing pants that day. A dress would’ve landed me in a far worse moment.
Stay Glittery, Daters!
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