I think I may have mentioned that last night the junior service club had it's annul mice races and casino night fundraiser. If you've never been to one you should go, it's pretty fun. Here's a link, but this isn't ours, it's just a random one I found on the web. Anyway, that's where I was last night, and because of that I will be hanging my head in shame, avoiding the the knowing looks, trying desperately not to listen to the whispers behind my back.
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I was the drunk one and made a fool of myself dancing on the roulette table. You're thinking that all the fine ladies who are members of the club will no longer let me near their husbands. You're thinking that it's 7th grade all over again and no one's parents will let their child come over to my house... (what? You don't remember that post? Well don't bother looking for a link. I've given you enough fodder for a lifetime worth of humiliation, I don't think I need to link it. But I think it's in the archives somewhere if you're that interested).
No, I'm afraid what happened is much worse.
If you've been around for a while you may have gotten the impression that I'm a tad... well, okay a little more than a tad... but I'm very slightly a little bit... vain. Except it's not that I'm conceited or think I'm beautiful or anything, it's more because I'm totally insecure. I really am. I'm always afraid I have food in my teeth or boogers or something. Maybe I sat in something and there's a big brown stain on my butt. Or my muffin top is just a bit too prominent. There is a whole host of potential flaws I obsess about, so I often find a mirror to make sure that those problems are all in my head and haven't manifested themselves irl. Only last night I didn't have a mirror. And I really wish I did.
Here's the set up: as one of the "mice girls" (you know, I'm on the jsc committee for the fundraiser so I had to work part of the evening) my job is the "roaming trivia gal" -- yeah I'm a "gal," it said so in the program. Anyway, my job last night was to roam around the room with a bag of goodies and some trivia questions. It's actually really fun. I get to go from table to table and talk to everyone in the room. I joke around and laugh and have fun and, well, maybe bat my eyes a little... you know, all the normal stuff you do when working a crowd. It's my thing and I love doing it every year. Last night was no exception. I hit the groups of guys, the ladies sitting by themselves looking bored, the mayor, the husbands, the wives, the old people, the hotties, the not-so-hotties... everyone. I don't think there were many people that I didn't chat up.
Several times during the course of the evening I stopped by our table and asked husband if I looked okay:
How are my teeth?
How about my nose?
Do I look okay?
It's important you know. I'm talking to lots of people.
You look fine hon. Could you get me a beer?
I believed him. I remember at one point thinking that maybe I'd scoot off to the ladies room just to check, but then decided I was paranoid. After all, husband really looked, right? He looked like he looked.
So the evening came to a close and we headed home. I was in a pretty good mood because although hubs and I didn't win any of the races -- actually we came home empty handed which was kind of a bummer -- I spent the evening giving away prizes and that's always fun. So we get home and say goodnight to the kiddos and head upstairs. I walked into the bathroom and started to get ready for bed and looked in the mirror.
Then I looked in the mirror again.
Then I looked again and shrieked "what the hell is in my hair!!??"
Hubs is like, "I don't see anything"
"What the HELL do you mean, you don't see anything? Look at those FLAKES!"
OMG. I had flakes. Not just a few flakes, but a lot of big yucky looking flakes in my hair. My dark brown hair.
wth? I don't have dandruff. I don't usually have a problem with a dry scalp. Granted I keep a bottle of head & shoulders around because my scalp can get dried out in the winter, but I haven't needed it. I just had my hair done earlier this week and David didn't mention a thing.And the flakes were all on the left side. Is that totally bizarre or what? I was totally racking my brain trying to think of what was going on. I use hair products, usually bumble and bumble, but I've never had a problem like this with them. I straightened my hair yesterday... maybe I didn't get all the product out?
Of course the next thought was all those people I spent the last three hours chatting up. Oh my god. The men. The women. The mayor and his wife. All my friends husbands. All my friends! OMG. Why didn't someone say something???
Then I started thinking back. What about the woman I sat next to and asked if she wanted to win a prize? She looked at my head. Oh oh, what about those two guys sitting at the middle table near the wall? I got down on one knee when I was talking to them, they were looking right at my head. Oh and the woman that knew husbands ex-wife. I bet she had a freakin field day with my flakes.
Then of course I just got mad. Really stinking burning mad. Why on earth would my friends just let me go on like that looking like I just stepped out of... out of... out of somewhere with dandruff? I would never do that. I'm the one who tells you that you're dragging toilet paper from your shoe. I'm the one who tells you your tag is sticking out. I'm the one who tells you there is lipstick on your teeth. All discreetly of course so you can fix the problem without being embarrassed.
So now, I'll be the pariah. I'll be talked about for years. And then some. Big Flakey Bambi will be my new nickname. I'm crushed. I'm hurt. I'm thinking God has just smote me for being vain.
Dammit. I wish I had just gotten drunk and mooned the mayor...