You've all heard of Gay Pride Week, correct? Well, this seems to be No Pride Week for me. I'm clearly trying to embarrass and/or humiliate myself as many times as possible in a short span of time. It's like I'm on a roll with my utmost asinine behavior.
It started when I decided to be a table-whore and go beg strangers to lift a new table into my car for me. Don't I have any pride at all? I'm willing to stand in parking lots and attempt to solicit strangers by batting my eyelashes and complimenting them on their muscles. Have I no shame?
No, I don't. As evidenced by the fact that I stripped down for Dr. McDreamy under the most embarrassing of circumstances. Add to that a few "little" things which have gone on the last few days, and I am left wondering what the hell is up with me this week?
I was at the grocery store yesterday. Physically I was, that is. In my head I was contemplating the upcoming VP debate, what time PR would be done with his baseball practice, and whether or not I had remembered to mail some forms off to TR. I guess you can safely say I was preoccupied. I filled a bag with some apples. I put them in my cart. I left the produce section and headed down another aisle.
In the background I heard some annoying woman calling to a friend, but it didn't really register. No, it didn't register at all until she flagged me down and grabbed my grocery cart forcing me to stop. I looked at her in dismay.
"You just took my cart," she said.
I looked down at the cart. My bag of apples. And another bag filled with turnips. I hate turnips. I have never once bought turnips in my entire life and yet there they were in my her cart. Right next to her, um, purse. Shit.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I said.
She was breathing hard from running after me. She looked irritated. And then her eyes focused on me for a minute and she said, "Oh, aren't you Twenty Four At Heart?"
My eyes darted around frantically, hoping to find someone to save me from this awkwardness.
"Um, what?" I said, stalling for time.
I'll be honest. Thoughts began rushing through my head at record speed. I could say "Twenty Three who?" grab my apples, and run. Or I could say, "That crackpot Twenty Four? No way!!" I even contemplated breaking into my minimal Spanish and pretending, "No hablo ingles." (Being blonde, I had a feeling that may not be convincing.)
I haven't told many of my friends about Twenty Four At Heart, I certainly wasn't expecting a total stranger to know who I am.
The woman began prattling. It turns out she's a friend of a friend's friend or something like that. She's one of my readers and somewhere along the line, awhile back, a mutual acquaintance had pointed me out to her, although we never met.
I felt just a littly teeny tiny bit awkward. You know, since I just ran off with her stuff. Luckily for me, she is very nice. She even forgave me for stealing her groceries. And her purse. Which by the way? I'm very sorry for, again, Lori! Very sorry indeed.
I had a little incident at PT earlier the same day. It had something to do with staring at the tall, bare-chested, 20-something, amazing, God-like, male specimen on a table across the room. I walked straight into a piece of fitness equipment. I wish I was kidding. Then, of course, I had to act like I meant to do just that. I pretended I was just, sort of, examining the equipment.
In my attempt at pretending my collision was intentional, I tripped over the leg of that very same piece of equipment. I didn't fall. No, I kind of just staggered around and looked like an idiot until I regained my balance. The Torturer rolled his eyes at me, as if to say, "Really? You are a moron!" I'm sure Male Specimen was quite impressed too. To be honest? Seeing him in nothing but a pair of shorts was worth the humiliation.
Next week I'm going to be much more focused. Really I am.