Grace, poise, elegance

Three words that have never been used to describe me.


On my wedding day I wore tennis shoes. I told everyone that it was because I am tall and I didn't want to be as tall as my soon to be husband while wearing heels. The truth? I was afraid of falling on my butt in front of 150 of my closest friends and family.


Remember in the late nineties when those hideous platform flip flops were popular? Yeah, I had a pair. I almost broke my ankle while walking up the stairs. I sprained it and had to wear flats for 2 weeks. I told people that the platforms just didn't match any of my outfits. Yeah, I lied.


I also dislocated my shoulder while running across the street. Alone. Seriously. The closest person to me was my then boyfriend, and he was at least 30 feet away. This is how talented I am. Who else can boast the ability to completely dislocate limbs all by them self? That would be me.


I am not, nor have I even been called graceful, full of poise, or elegant.


That's why this story will not come as a huge surprise to those of you that know me.


Jeff had a business dinner last night. So I was on my own for dinner.


Dylan and I went to his 2 month appointment during the day. He's totally healthy by the way, but that's another blog.


The appointment went long, which I was not expecting, and I didn't have lunch. So when I was sitting in the office for two hours and counting, I was getting a little delirious.


I decided to go to Salsarita's for dinner. (for those of you that don't know what this is, it is like my favorite place to eat. It is a Mexican restaurant where you design your own burrito or tacos- sort of like Subway- but way better).  I had a book. Dylan was fed. I was starving. What more could a girl want?


I ordered the tacos and chips and salsa and of course a diet coke. Because I got about 2 hours of sleep the night before. But that's another blog...


Anyways, I ordered my food, sat down at a table, and then little man started to get fussy. I thought that he might be hungry, so I moved to a booth near the wall where I could have some privacy. In the process of moving to the booth, I almost knocked over the entire table with Dylan's car seat.


A nice man tried to help me, but I of course told him I was okay. I tried to regain my composure. I managed to get Dylan to the booth without dropping him.


The best part is that by the time I got situated, Dylan was no longer hungry. *Sigh* Well at least I got time to read my book and enjoy my awesome tacos.


So, after a few pages, my diet coke was empty, which is unacceptable. I went to go get a refill.


Then I sat back down. Or at least I tried to.


This is what I think happened, because I am pretty sure that it happened in slow motion. But of course I cannot be sure, as I was utterly too terrified to remember anything.


I attempted to sit down, but the tray with my half eaten tacos and chips and salsa was hanging over the edge of the table. I was exhausted, so I sat down with a little too much umph, and catapulted the tray directly into my face. But that's not all. It also flung into my hair, into my bra, on my jeans, on my shoes, and on the wall behind me.


The man that tried to help me while I was knocking the table over earlier, just sat and looked at me. Gee, thanks for staring at me. Because, you know, staring at me is going to help me get the salsa off of my neck. God forbid you grab me some napkins. 


So, because no one would help me, I made the walk of shame - the messy, dripping walk of shame - to the other side of the restaurant with everyone's eyes on me to grab napkins.


I tried to wipe as much sour cream, cheese, salsa, lettuce and steak off of myself.  Thankfully, the man sitting in the table next to me helped me wipe it out of my hair (still with everyone watching me). 

He wiped it off my shirt (the back) and off my shoulders as well. Keep in mind that this is the only nice person in the entire place. Everyone else was staring. A little kid was even laughing at me. But, the nice man's wife, who I didn't notice at first, started giving me the evil eye, because her husband was wiping salsa outta my hair and I am pretty sure that we had a moment. Okay this is a lie. There is no reason why this woman should be mad at me. I didn't ask her husband to come over and wipe salsa out of my hair. The only moment we had was when I asked him if there was any salsa that I missed, to which he replied "Umm, yeah, on your, umm, shirt". What he meant to say was, "Dude, you totally have salsa on your boob, like a lot of salsa. You'd better wipe that off before you leave the restaurant."


So in the midst of getting help from the only nice person in the restaurant, and getting stared down by his wife (let's take a moment to dissect this shall we? What man is going to find an overweight, new mom covered in salsa attractive? I am pretty sure this woman had nothing to worry about) my stomach started to growl. Because, you know, half my dinner was on the floor.


I went to the counter and told one of the employees what happened and that I needed a broom to clean up the floor. He told me that he would clean it up for me. Thanks man, where were you with the napkins 10 minutes ago, huh?


Anyways, I sat down (very carefully, might I add) and read more of my book, and drank my diet coke. I wanted to avoid all eye contact until I was sure that every person that witnessed my lovely display was gone.


I then got up and ordered one more taco and more chips and salsa. The manager asked me if that was what spilled on the floor, and then told me that it was on the house. Thanks man, but where were you 20 minutes ago when I needed napkins, huh?


So I very carefully walked back to the table and ate my taco and chips. Thankfully with no more spillage.


That night when I got home, I took off each item of clothing carefully to avoid getting tomatoes and cilantro all over. I looked on the bathroom floor when I was done and saw an entire taco worth of cheese. This was all in my bra. Every bit. Because I shook out my shirt and pants. I remember getting everything off of the outside clothing items. The cheese must have been hiding out. In my bra.


I had to wash my hair, because the smell of salsa and the extreme crunchiness was overwhelming and I could no longer take it.


Had you been in the shower with me you would have laughed. I washed my hair, and I swear, the tomatoes and cilatro just kept falling out. Just when I thought I was done, more would fall onto the shower floor. It was laughable. Well unless you were me, because I was starting to run out of shampoo. And because the smell of salsa was still not gone.


I then got out of the shower and brushed my clean hair... and one more tomato fell out. It was like the salsa just had to have the last word. Stupid salsa.