Wednesday, June 15, 2005

In Which I Cannot Open My Purse

It becomes completely apparent to me on occasion that I graduated from college through some fluke in the bookkeeping process, because I am in fact, a complete and utter moron.
This was confirmed on Sunday, when I attempted to attend the viewing service for one of my co-worker's fathers.
Beforehand, the Lumberjack and I went to a little cantina for we were starving and nothing is quite as delicious as salsa with cilantro to munch on when you're starving. Even though the waiters there always say something about my breasts in Spanish. (I CAN understand you!)
Anyway, comments about my rack aside, the meal ends with my inability to get the attention of any of the aforementioned waiters so that I may take leftovers home to my giant cat, Mike, so I slip a few grilled shrimp into my purse, wrapped in what I assumed was a perfectly legitimate transporting material, also known as tinfoil.
All was well until I realized I was running late, trucked it back to GirlCentral, threw on a dour black dress, and the worst shoes on the planet and hit the road in the MilleniumFalcon with only minutes to spare.
Pull up to the church--an ass-haul of an hour away--and, as I get into line with several other colleagues, decide a mint might be in order, open my purse and...
OMG! What is that smell?! Deadly fumes rise from the depths of my favorite handbag! Horrid stench of... forgotten packet of shrimp! Stupidest. Move. Ever.
Quickly and silently zipping up the purse, I do a scan of the crowd, hoping no one has noticed that I brought something that obviously smells like it crawled into my purse and died-- to a wake.
I fiercely hug the parcel to my chest... greet mourning co-worker, try to politely dodge office patter from some 2,000 others who attended, and make an escape to the bathroom at earliest possible convenience. Shrimp in garbage can with a quick prayer for unfortunate bathroom attendant of the next day.
My purse still smells. It sits on the corner of the balcony at GirlCentral, defiantly reminding me of my moronic nature every time I walk by.

advice on other items not to carry home leftovers in gladly accepted at


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