Emily and I were in Maine a few weeks ago for a dear friends birthday party.
We had a LOVELY time and did silly things - Like my serenade to her of the Billy Idol Classic "Eyes without a Face" - which makes even less sense NOW as I sing it to my eye rolling daughter in the passenger seat. Or my insistence that she absorb the important life lessons that Gloria Gaynor is speaking about in "I will Survive".
She served heroically as the co-pilot in our six hour journey.
However, she seriously earned her keep Sunday morning.
I was groggily waking up. Was I hung over? Bite your tongue. I had a bit of a sinus headache, thats all. And maybe some light frostbite on my feet during the running to and from the freezing cold ocean. I was also informed, in a disapproving tone eerily reminiscent to her father, that I had snored during the night.
I meandered down the stairs. Consumed Coffee and Water. Some food eventually. Wandered back up the stairs to prepare for the long journey home. Put on my blue jeans. Sat down. And heard an ungodly rip.
This rip was so loud and so long that both Emily and I stopped and stared at each other.
My hand slid down the back of my jeans. Emily craned her neck to peek at the damage.
Yep. I had one full ass check exposed. And not in that "You'll never know if you aren't looking" way - I mean One half of my bodacious booty was on full display.
Now, being Not-hung-over and feeling a bit Winter bloated is one thing. To have your Blue jeans give up the ghost in such a dramatic fashion is quite another.
"Change pants" Emily suggested.
"These were the only pair I brought", I said. At least that is what not-hung-over Dawn said. In reality, I guess I DID have some pajama bottoms in either Christmas Plaid OR Holiday Gnomes that I could have worn. But then I would have had to tell the other adults that my ass had just blown out my jeans. Which I didn't want to do - regardless of the 16 years we have collectively been friends.
"Give me your sweatshirt" were the next words I spoke to my still stunned looking child. I then proceeded to attempt to wrap the sweatshirt around my waist to hide my lone ass cheek.
We may now all pause for a hearty laugh.
What was I thinking? A ten year olds sweatshirt? Good Lord.
"Listen", I said. "Go down stairs and get me my cape - I'll wear the cape for the rest of the time and we'll drive to Old Navy and I will get a new pair of pants...but don't tell anyone why you are bringing me my cape upstairs...inside."
And that is how we proceeded. I wore the cape for the rest of the hour or so we were there - bringing things to and from the car. Once on the road, I had to stop and get gas, so my partially covered cheek froze as I stood at the pump - holding the cape down so as not to give the Maine gas station attendants more of a moon than needed.
We then drove to Old Navy - where I held the cape down over my backside while I bought XL yoga pants -which were ridiculously big - but having just blown out my blue jeans, I didn't think it was time to prove that my ass wasn't as big as my jeans had just led me to believe.
Once we were back on the road - and my right butt cheek no longer attempting to make new friends - Emily expressed her admiration for my ability to make plans and shop with exposed body parts.
"The trick is - Try to act normal - nobody really knows unless you tell them - and this is when it is good to be quirky - nobody questioned me wearing a cape in the house - See?"
Then she fell asleep - and I drove us home. In my definately not-hung-over state.