embarrassing moments

Wardrobe Dysfunction

/ Diane Henders / 31 Comments

I was tempted to title this post “Wardrobe Malfunction”, but my compulsive desire for accuracy prevented me: I haven’t (recently, anyway) flashed any inappropriate body parts to an unsuspecting audience. But my wardrobe is definitely function-impaired.

I’ve mentioned before that I hate dressing up, and my wardrobe reflects that. Fortunately, I don’t really care; except on the rare occasions (like last week) when I’m forced into it. Then I scurry into the time capsule that is my closet, and flip through its contents hoping that at least one of my ancient outfits will roughly correspond to the current fashions. This quest would be considerably less stressful if I were actually familiar with the current fashions; but that knowledge always eludes me.

For nearly any other ‘how-to’ instructions, YouTube is my first and last destination. But for fashion? Oh hell no.

You’d think that videos titled “Fall Fashion Trends for 2023” would be a slam-dunk, but as I studied the incomprehensible mishmash of tight / baggy / long / short / wide / narrow / unadorned / blingy / classic / holyshitwhat-is-she-wearing garments, the only conclusion I could draw was that “the current style” is “any style of clothing I’ve worn anytime within the past five decades, and then some”.

But I’ve lived long enough to know that can’t be true. In fact, the “current fashion” is “any clothing that looks like any style I’ve worn in the past five decades, but in fact has been bought within the past ten minutes at an outrageously inflated price”.

So I did what I always do: Grabbed one of my old standbys, and went out and had a good time anyway.

And to my shock, all my clothing performed faultlessly, and so did I. No embarrassing exposures. No sticky disintegrating shoes. No errant vegetables swinging in my hair. No food-flinging. No awkward hair-related twitching or squirming. Good Lord, could I finally be developing some social graces, or at least a minimal level of social competence?!? (Don’t answer that. I prefer to cling to my illusions.)

Anybody else want to join my fashion rebellion?

Book 18 progress: I’m on Chapter 12 and Aydan is having one of those days. She managed to escape charges for assault and breaking and entering; but indecent exposure and public intoxication are still a possibility…

Flying Food

/ Diane Henders / 25 Comments

Last week’s post reminded me that I’m no stranger to flying food.  In fact, it may have contributed to my lifelong antipathy toward dressing up and attending formal functions.

First, a bit of background:  I grew up on a farm ‘way out in the sticks.  We dressed up for church, weddings, and funerals, and the rest of the time I ran wild outside.  So dress-up occasions came with considerable tension and discomfort: “Don’t do anything to get your good clothes dirty” meant ignoring my most fundamental personality traits.

When I was a teenager, my cousin’s wedding reception was held in the Fort Garry Hotel, the grandest historic hotel in Winnipeg.  There was a buffet, and I was on my best behaviour in my best dress.  We were working our way through the buffet line and my dad was ahead of me, chatting to whoever was ahead of him.

Remember the restaurant scene in Pretty Woman where the snail shoots off her plate only to be fielded by a deadpan waiter?

Yep, you guessed it.  Not versed in buffet etiquette, I had just taken a piece of pineapple with my fingers.  As I moved the slippery morsel toward my plate, my dad gestured animatedly.  (Apparently it runs in the family.)  His hand smacked mine, and the pineapple sailed across the fancy ballroom to disappear under one of the white-skirted tables.

I envied it at that moment.  I felt like vanishing under one of the tables, too.

Fast-forward to my first year of living in residence at the University of Manitoba.

Thanks to Chris K., a mature student who took this wide-eyed country bumpkin under his (platonic) wing, I finally learned some basic table manners such as holding my fork between my fingers instead of clenched in my fist like a weapon.  My image makeover continued while I observed and copied the fashion choices of my oh-so-sophisticated interior design classmates.

By the time I went on my first date (!) to a fancy restaurant (The Keg – hey, it was a whole lot fancier than anywhere I’d ever been), I was prepared.  I wore fashionable clothes; I knew how to hold my fork; I even successfully identified the bread-and-butter plate.  It was winter, so I was wearing my best (okay, my only) full-length coat.

Dinner went without a hitch and the bill was uneventfully paid.  When we finally rose from the table I turned to leave, swinging my coat dramatically over my shoulders… and it caught a full pitcher of ice water on a nearby ledge.

I didn’t look back to see whether it had landed on the floor or the neighbouring diners.  Head high, I swept out of the restaurant in my dramatic coat, the clattering of ice cubes and cries of dismay fading behind me.

It was a long time before I felt even remotely comfortable in a nice restaurant.  And I’m still VERY careful when donning my outerwear near other diners.

Anybody else have food-flinging tendencies?  (Remember the snail scene from Pretty Woman?  It runs from 1:50 to 2:35 in the video).