One of the very best things about our recent move back to the States is being able to escape for a long weekend with family members. Although the distance between San Diego and NC or NC and Boston may seem long to some, when you compare it to the 36+ hour journey it used to be, a half a day of travel seems like luxury. So, this summer my sister and I took advantage of our proximity and met for a blissful sister spa weekend.
For the most part, we spent our time getting buffed and massaged and having our pores cleared and our bodies pampered. But, we of course also wanted to have at least one night where we got all dressed up and indulged in a night out. I’d been itching to wear my gorgeous Jerry Gilden watercolor floral dress I snagged from the ever-fabulous Miss Hero Holliday. So, after some serious searching and yelp reviews, we opted for a local seafood restaurant.
I will preface the rest of this post by saying it is not for the faint of heart….
All in all, the night was going splendidly. My sister and I never run out of things to say to one another and the food was scrumptious. About 2/3 of the way through the meal, my sister went to call home and tuck in my adorable niece via FaceTime. And while she was gone I started to feel just a bit…off. My brow started to sweat and I took a few desperate sips of water. My sister returned and my slight off-ness quickly turned to panic. She looked at me with question in her eyes, as I barely got out the words, “Something’s not right.” Before I promptly threw up. At the table.
Now, ladies and gentlemen, let it be known that blogging is not always glamorous. We have our wardrobe malfunctions. Our blooper reels. But never in all of my life could I have imagined the horror of knowing you have no control over your body. That what was mere seconds ago inside of my stomach was, without warning, very much out. Thankfully, lady that I am, I managed to veer left and I don’t think I horrified any of the surrounding diners. Though I felt like turning into that gal from the Exorcist, I had the wherewithal to confine my humiliation to a wall, as we were in the back corner (thank goodness for small favors). While my digestive pyrotechnics were on display, the first thought I could actually vocalize before my body once again took over was, “Good god woman…bletchhhhhhhhh…..protect the vintage!!!!”
Within about 0.25 seconds, my sister’s Mom Radar clicked in, and she immediately jumped up, somehow procured a bucket (seriously, do all mom’s just have a bottomless handbag a la Mary Poppins??), and installed me in the bathroom, where she lovingly removed bits from my hair (I warned you this was not a pretty story…). As it turns out, I was fortunate that it happened at the table, because the restroom was a good 3 minute walk from our side dining room. Someone would have surely gotten to experience my dinner atop their head if I had tried to make a run for it.
The restaurant was extremely concerned, but other than burning cheeks and a panic over my dress, I felt much better once I had relieved myself of my offending stomach contents. My sister drove us back to the hotel, after a pitstop at CVS where she bought them out of saltines, ginger ale, gatorade and club soda, and we spent the night watching bad tv and thinking of that future date when we can start stories with, “Hey, remember that time you through up in the middle of a restaurant??”
This is the maiden voyage of this dress since The Incident. I’m very happy to report that she survived the ordeal and will live to dine with me another day…
Hey, if it’s not a good time, it’s a good story.
Lip Color: Short Circuit