Maybe I'm Not Supposed to Wear White Pants
Josh and I hit up the Spirits of Spring fundraiser about a month ago. We go because we truly want to support the Variety mission, not because we want to eat a bunch of cheese and drink a bunch of wine. I was rocking a black and white shirt and white pants. Josh must've shrunk the pants without me knowing it sometime over the winter, because they're too tight in the waist now. Luckily, I had a flowy top to go with them.
About two tastings in, I went to a table and asked for a Sauvignon Blanc. Instead of pouring me the cheap-ass ounce or two, the guy accidentally dropped the bottle, which knocked over a couple bottles of red wine. The dickwad standing there by me tried to "save" them, which meant slapping them up so the wine splattered all over my face, chest, arms, and pants. I think there was even a little on my toes. Dickwad chortled and said, "Guess you picked the wrong night to wear white!"
Instead of force feeding him his own balls, which I considered for a good few seconds, I said something like, "Really? That's really what you're going to say to me right now? Why don't you either go F yourself or get me some napkins?"
He came back with some napkins from the nearby appetizer table, but handed most of them to the wine pourer and used the others to dab off his own hands. F'er. I glared at the wine guy until he gave me his. He barely apologized and wouldn't even pour me a full glass. He said it was some liability thing. I got him to agree to pour me at least 2/3 of a glass every time I came back, at least.
I had to spend the rest of the event looking like the drunk dumbass who spilled all over herself. The wine guy did keep his promise. I stood there drinking Seghesio Zinfandel for like a half hour while I talked to a few coworkers. Every time I was empty, I'd just hold my glass out and he'd refill to the promised two thirds. I bet I had the equivalent of at least a half a bottle.
Thankfully, the wine came right out of the pants. There were a few faint spots, but they were the smaller ones that were barely noticeable. I was shaken by the incident, because I really can't afford to lose these pants. About 1 in every 500 pairs of pants look good on my flat ass (thanks , Mom), and probably only 1 in every 500,000 pairs of WHITE pants look good on my flat ass. It's a freakin miracle that I found these.
I thought it was time to bring them out of hiding now that June has arrived. I had to wear a flowy shirt once again to cover the muffin top, but I got a ton of compliments. Everything was going well until about 2:45, when one of my coworkers (someone I actually like, even) came to talk to me for a few minutes. When she got up, she knocked her coffee all over my pants. ALL over. It started at the waist and ended at my shoes.
Before my brain could shush me, I said something like, "Are you f'ing kidding me? Who the F drinks coffee this late in the day anyway?" I tried to play it off like I was jokingly overreacting, but I made the girl feel really bad.
After lots of pretreating and three washings, the stain is faint but still very visible. There's no point in telling the girl that I want her to buy me new pants, because 1) I'll never find another pair that will look that fab, and 2) I've had them for like 3 years and they were on clearance at Express. I think I've gotten $20 worth of wearing out of them. Plus, I like this person and now she'll probably feel like she has to buy me drinks and stuff.
This was strike 2 for the pants. Maybe the world isn't ready for me in these pants. Or maybe they don't look as good as they did 3 years ago and something is trying to tell me that I have no business wearing them anymore. Either way, I'm going to give them one last chance. If something happens, I will officially retire them. If I make it through unscathed, I'll chalk up the other two instances as typical bad Molly luck.
About two tastings in, I went to a table and asked for a Sauvignon Blanc. Instead of pouring me the cheap-ass ounce or two, the guy accidentally dropped the bottle, which knocked over a couple bottles of red wine. The dickwad standing there by me tried to "save" them, which meant slapping them up so the wine splattered all over my face, chest, arms, and pants. I think there was even a little on my toes. Dickwad chortled and said, "Guess you picked the wrong night to wear white!"
Instead of force feeding him his own balls, which I considered for a good few seconds, I said something like, "Really? That's really what you're going to say to me right now? Why don't you either go F yourself or get me some napkins?"
He came back with some napkins from the nearby appetizer table, but handed most of them to the wine pourer and used the others to dab off his own hands. F'er. I glared at the wine guy until he gave me his. He barely apologized and wouldn't even pour me a full glass. He said it was some liability thing. I got him to agree to pour me at least 2/3 of a glass every time I came back, at least.
I had to spend the rest of the event looking like the drunk dumbass who spilled all over herself. The wine guy did keep his promise. I stood there drinking Seghesio Zinfandel for like a half hour while I talked to a few coworkers. Every time I was empty, I'd just hold my glass out and he'd refill to the promised two thirds. I bet I had the equivalent of at least a half a bottle.
Thankfully, the wine came right out of the pants. There were a few faint spots, but they were the smaller ones that were barely noticeable. I was shaken by the incident, because I really can't afford to lose these pants. About 1 in every 500 pairs of pants look good on my flat ass (thanks , Mom), and probably only 1 in every 500,000 pairs of WHITE pants look good on my flat ass. It's a freakin miracle that I found these.
I thought it was time to bring them out of hiding now that June has arrived. I had to wear a flowy shirt once again to cover the muffin top, but I got a ton of compliments. Everything was going well until about 2:45, when one of my coworkers (someone I actually like, even) came to talk to me for a few minutes. When she got up, she knocked her coffee all over my pants. ALL over. It started at the waist and ended at my shoes.
Before my brain could shush me, I said something like, "Are you f'ing kidding me? Who the F drinks coffee this late in the day anyway?" I tried to play it off like I was jokingly overreacting, but I made the girl feel really bad.
After lots of pretreating and three washings, the stain is faint but still very visible. There's no point in telling the girl that I want her to buy me new pants, because 1) I'll never find another pair that will look that fab, and 2) I've had them for like 3 years and they were on clearance at Express. I think I've gotten $20 worth of wearing out of them. Plus, I like this person and now she'll probably feel like she has to buy me drinks and stuff.
This was strike 2 for the pants. Maybe the world isn't ready for me in these pants. Or maybe they don't look as good as they did 3 years ago and something is trying to tell me that I have no business wearing them anymore. Either way, I'm going to give them one last chance. If something happens, I will officially retire them. If I make it through unscathed, I'll chalk up the other two instances as typical bad Molly luck.
posted by Molly at 8:09 PM
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