It always happens like this. Just when you’re feeling like a million dollars. Or at least a few thousand quids sterling, you look down at your perfect outfit to discover it isn’t quite as perfect as you thought.
And while you know the odds are that no-one else, least of all a couple of fairly blokey college lecturers, will have noticed, you noticed…and now you can’t think about anything else!
That was this morning. “Issues” over my daughter’s college performance meant I had to have one of those stern, serious, “we’re-really-quite-concerned” meetings with her lecturer and her lecturer’s lecturer. Or administrator. Or whatever.
Smart. That’s the thing. So I put on a favourite pair of black pajama style pants (Warehouse): my equally favourite black drapey cardy (Wallis); and a v-neck pink top with just a hint of white lace below. Definitely feeling good, espesh when combo’d with one of my almost-but-not-quite-ott bits of blingy, jangly jewellery (Cancer Research charity shop).
The whole rotated around a point just a millimeter or two above my cleavage, which gave it both symmetry and a pleasing hint of ambivalence. Sadly, that focus is very much relevant to what comes next.
For there I was, sat neatly, primly, legs-crossed in administrator’s office, doing my very best good girl imitation when I glanced down and…plonked precisely at the intersection of jewellery, v-neck, cleavage and what have you was a large round grease spot.
The dire outcome, I suspect, of having tossed a couple of kippers in a frying pan at breakfast time, and not stepping back in time to avoid the spatter.
Quite mortified. And though, as we all know, the chances of anyone ELSE noticing are pretty slim, I just couldn’t not. Should I surreptitiously scrat it? Nope: that way lies the error perpetuated by public nosepickers and bum-scratchers: that if they do it quickly enough, no-one else will notice. Which of course, they do.
Carry on as normal? Eeek!
Or, as I did in the end – we’d actually done the most important stuff when dire realisation hit me – fold in the cardy, draw myself up even straighter than before, and pretend total focus, while simultaneously planning swift exit and dash to the loo.