Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Confidence, Friends, Humor, Women | Posted on 18-09-2012
Tags: awkward, dinner, friends, Miss Cashmere, too much Pippi
My good friend invited me out to dinner with two of her friends that I didn’t know. A table for four, please.
I hesitated at first, because my Saturday nights are kinda sacred and are usually spent with my family, a movie, and a giant bowl of popcorn.
One of her friends was a delight. The other was a hater
I wasn’t prepared to spend my free time with a salad, hater on the side. I got flustered.
This one was skinny. Her hair in a sleek bob. Clad in a cashmere sweater, she pursed her lips as she looked me up and down with her x-ray vision.
I was 10 minutes late. I showed up in some dumb chunky sweater. My hair still wet from my shower. The three women were already buddied up in a booth. “A Blue Moon on tap, please,” I sang to the waiter, and squeezed in next to the cashmere-bob-pursed-lips one.
You know the awkward moment when the other women order appetizers as their dinners AFTER you order the Alaskan salmon and mashed potatoes and salad, with ranch dressing please. Yeah that.
My booth buddy (not) ordered an appetizer Caesar salad for her dinner. And couldn’t finish it. (When I told this to my real buddy Scott, @DiaperDads, he tweeted, “I just can’t get past fake-ass personas. Like we don’t know there’s a stop at Dunkin Donuts planned after eating salad.”)
Over dinner, I was explaining a project I was doing at work Miss Cashmere interrupted and sneered, “You WORK??!!”
As if working is a strange, new phenomenon.
“Uh, yeah, you DONT??!!” I wished I had retorted. I usually think of witty comments like two days after the fact.
“Another beer, please,” I nearly pleaded to the waiter.
The sauce on the salmon was delicious. And those mashed potatoes were perfectly buttered and garlicked. I envisioned licking the plate.
When the table got quiet, I felt the need to fill in the quiet with gab. So, I talked about my blog. My kids. My recent clothes purchases and returns. My latest recipe. My silly stories. I blathered. Did Miss Cashmere have any clever stories? No, but she sure seemed interested in putting my stories down.
When it was time to gather our coats and purses, my purse strap got tangled. I yanked it, flinging my purse to the floor, spilling its entire contents. Coins scattered and rolled every which way. Was this a metaphor of how I felt exposed?
Miss Cashmere was quick to smirk and eye roll.
I quickly collected my coins, wallet, receipts, gum, pens, bag of almonds, phone (and my dignity)–and shoved everything back. I smoothed out my chunky sweater over my full belly and gulped down the last of my beer. I stood up straight, smiled a fake smile, and uttered, “It was nice meeting you. Thanks for inviting me.”
I got the hell out of there, relieved to feel the Winter night air cool off my flushed cheeks. And I made it home in time to still score some late-night popcorn.
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