I went to a charity fundraiser with my friend Jodi last night.
We got dressed up… we put on make-up… I spent more than an hour actually drying and styling my 45 pounds of hair… We were lookin’ good.
Upon arrival, we headed (immediately) to the bar and each got a glass of wine. We sipped our wine, perused the items up for silent auction, and wondered where waiters with the passed appetizers were.
I have always believed that one of the more difficult things to do in life is to look comfortable in 4 inch heels, hold your clutch purse, your drink, a little bite of food, and to make sure your right hand is readily available (and crumb free) when needed in order to shake somebody’s hand. All at the same time. I consciously work at juggling all of that.
I have also always believed that passed appetizers should be one bite. Not two bites. One bite.
Otherwise, this happens:
As I took my first little appetizer from the tray (2 bites worth of a chopped Asian chicken mixture in a little crunchy, flaky edible cup), I noticed David Arquette had arrived. (He and Courteney Cox are big supporters of this organization.)
My first bite of this appetizer caused the remaining second bite to crumble apart.
An avalanche of chicken and green onions dropped right down the front of my dress and got caught in the cleavage that I had brought out just for this special occasion. As I concentrated on picking chunks of chicken out of my bra, I realized it would be less obvious to push it further in than to try to fish it out.
As I tried to surreptitiously wipe off my chest and tuck chicken further into my cleavage, David Arquette had reached our group and was talking to Jodi. With all eyes on him, I took advantage of the distraction to adjust my clothing and make sure there was no more food visible on my face, chest or dress.
During this adjustment process, I felt the chicken slip further down, fall out of my bra, slide down my stomach and fall out of the bottom of my dress and land on my very cute, open toed python slingbacks.
So now instead of chicken all over my boobs, there is chicken all over my toes. I shook it onto the floor and moved away from the scene of the crime. I let out a big sigh. Crisis averted, no one seemed to be the wiser.
I didn’t get to meet David Arquette, but really? Would you want to be “that girl who needed a bib” when you meet someone? Me either.
So I counted myself fortunate and mingled a little more, meeting and talking with other friends and attendees.
Then I looked at my glass of chardonnay.
It looked like a snow globe. I had been so concerned with the chicken wedged between my boobs, that I never bothered to see if it fell anywhere else. My wine had chunks of diced chicken and something else unidentifiable floating in it.
How many people saw that and wondered what it was?
How many people saw that and thought it was backwash!?
Agggh!! Almost 24 hours later and I am still mortified!!
Clearly, you can dress me up, but you should never take me out. (Or I should eat a little something before I get there….)