This afternoon, I decided to be an independent woman and see "The Proposal" at the movie theater that's a half-mile or so from my apartment.
I got there and got a small bag of popcorn. The woman at the concession stand asked if I wanted butter, and I said yes. After she loaded up a bag with savory, buttery popcorn — in what could be seen as an omen of what's to come — I accidentally knocked over the bag when when I tried to grab it off the counter.
But armed with a partially refilled bag of buttery popcorn, I settled into a seat in Theater 5 and set the bag on my lap. The first few times I picked up the popcorn bag, I noticed the bottom felt a little greasy. Not wanting to get any savory, buttery goodness on my pants, I repositioned the bag so that it was pressed up against my torso and not touching my shorts at all. About halfway through the movie, I finished my little bag of buttery delight and put it down on the floor.
As the end credits rolled, I picked up the bag — not yet knowing how it had betrayed me — and threw it away as I stepped out of the theater into the light. It was there I discovered that not only did I get butter all over my shorts, but my greasy bag also left some on my shirt as well.
I took off my shirt and walked home on side streets to minimize the public spectacle, but my shorts were still plenty visible and there really aren't streets between my apartment and the theater that are deserted on a Friday evening.
So I strolled through downtown Palm Springs looking like I had wet myself — or worse — and chuckled all the way home since I really don't get embarrassed about much of anything anymore. (My sense of shame died on Jan. 5, 2007.)
Then, when I got home, I put my Tide pen, bathtub and laundry detergent to work in an effort to salvage the clothes:
And I also, of course, submitted the whole affair to fmylife.com.
20:24 » Also, I'm glad to see that I'm not the only person this has happened to... and I'm a little frightened that Cyndi's jealous of my pants. lol
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