Last week, for Wine Wednesday (what's Wine Wednesday, you ask? like Thirsty Thursday, but with wine) Mr. GayMess (a.k.a. Bob Dole) and I went to a nice restaurant that was running a seriously cheap special for Cincinnati Downtown Restaurant Week.
I was so excited to be going to this super nice restaurant and I had JUST purchased an adorable vintage purse at my friend's boutique...and I was going out with a Hot Gay Man (hello competition!)...so naturally I wanted to look nice! I decided on my fab teal romper, 4 inch heels, a little messy side bun, and my new purse as my statement accessory. I felt GREAT!
The food at the restaurant was delicious, in spite of me sprinkling fucking weight loss magic crystals all over it compulsively. (Sensa definitely works at curbing appetite- when I remember to use it or am not embarrassed to use it- or in this case, embarrassing Mr. GayMess by using it) The red wine was also dee-lish! It made me feel a little warm, but in that good yummy italian food way. We discussed our plans for the evening and in spite of the impressive arguments Mr GayMess made for going out that night to a new bar, I determined that I should probably be lowkey. I needed sleep since I hadn't fully packed for my weekend bachelorette party and I had to wake up at 5am. So we paid the check...and then....
I stood up and noticed that I had sweated all over my chair, the back of my legs left puddles on the vinyl chair. (attractive, yes?) I immediately freaked the fuck out and my eyes nearly popped out of my head as I whiplashed my neck around to check the back of my romper....CONFIRMED! I HAD SWEATED THRU MY ROMPER! I had a GIANT wet spot sitting directly where the ass meets the leg. Full on, soaked through, wet spot! My cute little outfit was now SWASSTASTIC...
Immediate reaction? To exclaim just loud enough for Mr. GayMess to hear, "Jesus H. Christ! I am mortified...."
I told Mr. GayMess, "Follow behind me closely...like uncomfortably close. I'll show you later."
He assessed the situation outside as we waited on the valet to pull the car around and discreetly whispered, "Are you sure that's just sweat?"
To which I loudly replied, " REALLY? Did I pee my pants in one of the nicest restaurants in Cincinnati? Or worse? Of course I am fucking sure that it was just my overactive sweat glands that dropped a puddle in my pants! God, I need a drink."
Mr. Gaymess relished in his victory as we drove to the new bar he had been talking up. 2 drinks and $5 worth of JukeBox songs later he asks, "Are your pants still wet? Because if they are, I would like a picture of that."
My thoughtful reply after shifting in my chair to look at the damp fabric covering my buttcheeks? "Yes, kind of...but FUCK YOU!"