There are not too many moments that roll my way where I fancy myself to be suave or cosmopolitan. Sure, from time to time I might string a few words together in such a way that I make somebody laugh during a conversation, or every few months I manage to put myself together in such a manner that I don’t look like an exhausted mother or a teen, a ‘tween and a preschooler, I actually look decent.
Tonight I was experiencing the above instances, only they were combined. I was having dinner with a lovely group of ladies whose company I have come to adore after only two meetings. We were laughing and sharing stories and I experienced the total contentment that comes with doing something slightly outside of my comfort zone but satisfying at the same time. That is until I paused for a moment when I caught something amiss out of the corner of my eye. I looked down and there upon the shelf of my left breast, sprinkled across my black, ribbed top was a trail of powdered sugar. Not just loose powder sugar that can be swifted away but the staying kind that plunks and soaks in because it has been nestled in something buttery on a cookie. As I contemplated the bursting of my sophisticated bubble I happened to glance up and saw one of the other women sharing this moment with me. She truly is chic and classy and there I sat with sugar plastered across my inappropriately large breast. I smiled and sort of tittered because what else could I do? Then with my cloth napkin I tried to subtly swipe away the offending sugar without appearing to grope myself. I don’t know if I pulled it off but I think maybe for next month’s meeting I might opt for something beige that can offer better food camouflage.
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