Okay, okay, okay. I really don’t want to admit this one.
“Caitlyn, there’s a tag on your shoe.”
“No, that’s a bow, honey.” I look proudly down at my new white shoes.
“It’s a tag. I’ll take it off.”
I squint down at my foot. He’s crazy. Each shoe clearly just has bows on them. “John, it’s a bow.”
I’d know, I’d been wearing the shoes for two days now.
“Look closer, you don’t have your glasses on.”
“I crouch down.”
John’s bending down too. He has his phone out. He’s taking a picture of the tag on my shoe. Dammit, it’s a price tag. “I’ll e-mail it to you,” he says gleefully.
“How about you be really helpful and cut the damn thing off,” I suggest.
Now, this wouldn’t be so embarrassing if my friend Kelley Jefferson hadn’t had to stop me as I’m at the podium at the California Dreamin’ Conference gathering my notes and waiting as people walk into the ballroom to hear me talk. She’s tugging on the bag of my dress.
“Got it,” she says.
“What?” I ask.
“You left the price tag on your dress.”
For God’s sake, I was so worried about the slides, I forgot to check the dress, it’s amazing that the skirt wasn’t caught up in my pantyhose!
Last but not least was me getting to the swimming pool. I was feeling a little more uncomfortable then normal. I’m convinced there are very few women at my age truly comfortable in a bathing suit at a swimming pool. I’m getting ready to dive in to do my laps. But dammit, I’m really not feeling right. I do a quick shimmy in my new swimsuit. Sure enough. I know what’s wrong. I walk over to the bathroom and rip the little protective seal that’s still there in the crotch of the swimsuit. The one that had made it through the wash cycle.
I go back out and dive in. I’m feeling much better now.
Apparently I can’t even properly dress myself. Sigh.