Episode 242: Book Club
In which Stephanie learns to laugh
at herself . . .
again.
I woke up at 7 this morning. Plenty of time to get to book club by 9, right? Wrong. I was in no rush. I had my tea, my pear, my cereal, my prune juice with Miralax, read the paper plus the Friday night entertainment rag. Oops! It was 7:45. Got to get going. Yeah, okay, bad pun.
By the time I take care of that, Daddy is already in bed and I am trying to find my clothes in the dark. I grab, throw on, run out the door. I arrive at book club, 17 minutes late, huffing and puffing, explaining and apologizing. (Not because I am short of breath. I'm not. I was just rushing.) Everyone is very kind, but then Cindy comments that I have my shirt on inside out. Yipee. I just put my head down on the table. Krista, so kind and thoughtful, says, "Oh, come on. There must be a way to change it without having to go to the ladies' room."
I whip out my deep purple paisley pashmina from Mara and hold it up. They think I am going to wrap it around my shirt so the inside-outness will be concealed. No, I hand one end to Krista on one side and the other to Anna Marie on the other. They finally catch on that they are to hold it to shield me from "prying eyes." (We were the only customers in that part of the store and the guy at the coffee stand was busy cleaning up.) So I scrunch and wiggle and contort and come up with my shirt on right side out. I smile, feeling a bit smug that I managed to pull the stunt off.
Then Cindy observes that I now have it on backwards. I mean, really what are friends for, anyway? If she had not told me, I would have gone into lead the Women to Work workshop with my shirt on inside out! The scarf goes back up and I re-contort and swing my shirt around to the front. This was a way easier task.
Anyway, we all laughed and laughed. As Ruth said, its a memory we will all cherish. She started to say, "We will ask, hey remember the time Stephanie . . ." and trailed off realizing that she was talking about me as if I was gone. She changed her sentence, but I was reminded, once again. A bit of a bittersweet moment.