After plotting my escape planning a gathering for weeks finally the evening had arrived where I would feed my children and husband dinner then quietly slip out for a bite with some girlfriends – friends I haven’t seen since my wedding nearly 6 years ago and ones I haven’t really connected with for more like 12 years.
After arriving nearly 15 minutes late, which by the way, I totally consider on time when children are involved, I take my seat, look across the table and realize I am sitting in the presence of a successful criminal lawyer and a television producer – friends of mine from a former life, one where we didn’t have children, responsibilities or jobs for that matter. The conversation was easy – each of us quickly chiming in to catch up as quickly as possible, nearly impossible to span 12 years in just a few short hours.
We successfully irritated our waitress several times because there was too much catching up to do to actually glance at the menu and make a decision and all that gabbing made the table next to us slightly irritated as well, seeing as how they were trying to enjoy a intimate evening and we could not shut up for 5 freaking minutes.
Midway through the evening my friend whips out her camera – she needed props to explain exactly how fat her alcoholic father had become and I was interested, more than interested, I was down right ecstatic to see him, even if he was a little rosy in the cheeks. Seeking a better look, I lean in towards her not realizing someone had moved the candle that was supposed to be in the middle of the table between us, perhaps when the bread was delivered. After about 30 seconds of pilfering through her camera she finds one, looks towards me and screams, “You’re on FIRE!”
At that point all I can see is smoke and I start flailing, because unlike everyone else in America I was taught to stop, flail and scream – try it, you’ll be quite the spectacle. Turns out my hair was on fire, yes, it actually caught fire while I was busy gawking at photos and I didn't even notice. As you can imagine it wasn’t the actually being on fire that caused the stir, no, it was the smell. If you have ever burned your hair you know what I am talking about – it is quite possibly one of the worst smells in the entire world, I can still smell it. The smell was so bad that thelady tranny next to us turned and asked if one of our napkins was on fire – no sweetheart, I just lit my hair on fire and I haven’t even been drinking.
After arriving nearly 15 minutes late, which by the way, I totally consider on time when children are involved, I take my seat, look across the table and realize I am sitting in the presence of a successful criminal lawyer and a television producer – friends of mine from a former life, one where we didn’t have children, responsibilities or jobs for that matter. The conversation was easy – each of us quickly chiming in to catch up as quickly as possible, nearly impossible to span 12 years in just a few short hours.
We successfully irritated our waitress several times because there was too much catching up to do to actually glance at the menu and make a decision and all that gabbing made the table next to us slightly irritated as well, seeing as how they were trying to enjoy a intimate evening and we could not shut up for 5 freaking minutes.
Midway through the evening my friend whips out her camera – she needed props to explain exactly how fat her alcoholic father had become and I was interested, more than interested, I was down right ecstatic to see him, even if he was a little rosy in the cheeks. Seeking a better look, I lean in towards her not realizing someone had moved the candle that was supposed to be in the middle of the table between us, perhaps when the bread was delivered. After about 30 seconds of pilfering through her camera she finds one, looks towards me and screams, “You’re on FIRE!”
At that point all I can see is smoke and I start flailing, because unlike everyone else in America I was taught to stop, flail and scream – try it, you’ll be quite the spectacle. Turns out my hair was on fire, yes, it actually caught fire while I was busy gawking at photos and I didn't even notice. As you can imagine it wasn’t the actually being on fire that caused the stir, no, it was the smell. If you have ever burned your hair you know what I am talking about – it is quite possibly one of the worst smells in the entire world, I can still smell it. The smell was so bad that the
Diagnosis: SPAZ.
5 comments:
Oh, Kandace...you make me laugh. I can just picture all of it. I'm glad you survived the ordeal and lived to tell about it. Sounds like a really fabulously fun night out, burnt hair and all.
LOL!! What girl hasn't smelled that lovely aroma! Sounds like a good time even if you did get singed. Hope your hair isn't too lopsided. Fortunatley from my one experience at about age 12 I recall that flailing seems to put hair out rather quickly. Poof. Once minute the hair is there, then its just not. Good thing you used the flail method. ;)
Oh, the nightmare of every woman with more than a pixie cut! I'm glad that the flailing worked, probably exactly what I would have done,too! Besides the hair, it does sound like a fun girls' night out!
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