||[Aug. 3rd, 2011|12:11 pm]
So, my co-workers took me out for Happy Hour last week to celebrate my continued existence. And my feet hurt so I wound up on a bar stool, but I was constantly turning to one side or another and completely missing the folks directly behind me. So, I hopped off the stool, leaving one hand on the back, did a quarter turn and with a little hop, threw a leg over and mounted the bar stool facing in the other direction. In one single fluid motion -- which actually impressed several colleagues, although frankly, to someone who spent her formative years hopping up onto the backs of very large horses, was nothing. Naturally, as we've discussed, it was only fluid and perfect because of course, I didn't THINK about doing it. |
Now my actions also caused a few others to suggest that maybe I'd been overserved, since now I was straddling a bar stool backwards and laughing at people who thought that was a strange thing for me to do.
Note to self: explore in another post why, whenever you RELAX and are yourself, packing away the speech and physical editors that keep you vaguely professional all day long, people think you are DRUNK. Here's the thing -- when I hit the leading edge of drunk, I WILL slur. When I am picking and pronouncing my words with the same care as you would take tip-toeing through a minefield -- THAT'S when you need to take my keys. Loud, foul-mouthed, bawdy and slightly mean...hell, that's just ME.
But it was nice to revel, for a few seonds at least, that despite the aging knees, the extra poundage, the general out of shape, out of practice, I can still pull off some graceful moves.
Of course, I ruined it the next day, finding myself in the ladies room with a pen in my hand. And not wanting to put the pen down someplace less than sanitary, I tucked it down the front of my blouse. And then forgot. Until I was walking out of the ladies room, realized that I still had a pen between my boobs, reached down to pull it out and....
Managed to get it all caught up in my blouse on the way out, so that three colleagues came around the corner just as I'm standing there with a pen all tangled up in the front of my blouse.
Oh, the Awkward. I may flirt with Grace, but I always come home to Awkward.