Last week I attended a women’s conference with two of my friends, Brooke and Susan. We discussed topics like customer service, politics, leadership, getting out of debt, blah blah blah. Anyway, between the sessions we browsed the exhibit booths.
After gathering an impressive collection of free pens, we stopped at the Scentsy table.
Like most women, we were immediately distracted by the wonderful aroma of the little cubes. After smelling ten different flavors of cinnamon, I noticed a white powdery substance across the ah-hem "crotch" section of my black slacks.
Staring down at myself, I leaned over to my friend Brooke and whispered “Hey, look at my crotch” hoping she would provide me with an answer is to how long I’ve been walking around with powder on my pants.
When I didn’t get a response, I nudged her with my elbow and said firmly, “Brooke. Look. At. My. Crotch.”
At this point I’m in recovery mode. I’ve discreetly placed my leather portfolio in front of the powdery mess, hoping that no one would catch me attempting to brush it off.
Hopelessly, I looked up at Brooke and to my horror, noticed a complete stranger standing next to me. Stammering over my words I said “you’re not Brooke…”
She looked at me with a terrified expression (one that mimicked mine) and said “No I’m not, and I promise I didn’t look at your crotch.”
Somebody kill me now.
I apologized profusely, stuttering “I I I pppromise, I’m not a pervert! I spilt something on my pants!”
Suddenly, I’m unaware of why it was necessary to show the mishap to Brooke in the first place. Why didn’t I just excuse myself to the restroom like a normal person?
It was about that time that Brooke and Susan (and everyone else at the Scentsy booth) realized what happened. They couldn’t contain their laughter, they laughed and they laughed, bent over with tears in their eyes.
So I did the only thing I could, I placed my leather portfolio over my lap and walked quickly to the restroom. I found an empty stall and hid. I contemplated staying there forever. If I wait long enough, maybe they will forget my existence.
After a couple of minutes, I decided that if Kim Kardashian could face the world again after being flour-bombed I can too! I grabbed a damp paper towel and cleaned myself up.
When I returned to the infamous Scentsy booth, Brooke and Susan were still bent over with laughter. I couldn’t help it, I joined in!
Hey, they can’t laugh at me if I’m laughing too! Right?