Wednesday, January 2, 2013

A Little Laughter To Help Get You Through Your New Year's Dieting...


It was Halloween 2007 (long before I met my hubby). I had recently come through a very difficult few years: I had lost both of my precious grandmothers to cancer, my fiancee informed me that we needed some time apart (which, literally translated, meant that he needed to move 2,000 miles away and never talk to me again), and I had recently quit working in one of your average, run-of-the-mill den of vipers.  I had a new job, new friends, and a new outlook on life.  Things were finally going my way.  The only thing missing in this great new life of mine was the adorable  local store manager who daily came into the bank where I now worked.
 I was the assistant manager at our branch, and I rarely used this to my advantage.....except when Eric came in to do his store deposit.  Whenever I saw him coming, I usually decided that would be a good time for the tellers to clean the break room, do coin inventory, or restock the snack supply.  Making myself the only person ever available to help him may not have seemed fair to the other tellers, but they were all young with their whole lives in front of them.  I , on the other hand, had nothing but a slightly psychotic crush and ovaries full of eggs with an expiration date akin to that box of flan my mother had, for unknown reasons, brought with her when we moved from California fifteen years prior.  Needless to say, the best part of my day occurred when Eric walked up to my station.  He had thick brown hair, some seriously luscious lips, and gorgeous light green eyes that usually managed to coax some drool out of my watering mouth.  When he smiled at me, I wet my pants a little.   I felt like a sixth grader at a Bieber concert whenever he came around.  In my defense, he was very flirtatious with me.  He was always making these shrouded comments to me that I know had a hidden meaning.  Things like "have a good day", or "can I have some twenties for these ones?"  Oh yeah, he was crushing on me HARD.  I would often find myself stalking him at the store where he worked.  "Eric? Hi! I can't believe I ran into you here looking so raggedy. I'm sooooo embarrassed!"  Of course I only showed up there after I had spent hours shopping for a new outfit, telling that lady at the Clinique counter that yes of course I was interested in forty dollar mascara just to get a free makeover, and tousling and teasing my hair to give it just the right amount of  "sexy bedhead."     
So, back to Halloween.  I was dressing up as a 70's disco diva and had found the perfect retro shirt at a thrift store. It was a little bit too small, so I had this great idea to sew in some funky material panels on both sides to make it a little more roomy.  My little town didn't have a fabric store, so I went to Eric's store to try and find something.  I looked and looked, but I just couldn't come up with anything.  On the way out, some sparkly turquoise fabric caught my eye.  Turns out, it was a pair of panties the size of Alaska on steroids.  These were the kind of panties that, in an emergency situation, could easily double as a shelter or a parachute.  And they were made of the perfect material to cut up and sew into my Halloween costume! I looked up at the checkout counter and saw that a young girl was running the register, so I grabbed two pair of the colossal undergarments and ran to the counter, praying the whole time that Eric wasn't working that night.  I made it to the counter, had my money out, and darted my eyes suspiciously around the store while the cashier rang up the panties.  And then it happened. In slow motion, I saw her reach for the intercom microphone.  The words that came out of her mouth may as well have been my death sentence: "Eric, I need a price check on aisle one!"  He walked over, and as I saw him lifting those enormous panties high in the air trying to find the tag in the billowing folds of fabric, I knew that anything we may have had was gone.  After an eternity of awkward silence, I managed to squeak out "those aren't for me, you know...they are just for a costume."  I admit, I have a little junk in my trunk, so I wasn't surprised when his look said "uh-huh, riiiiiiiiiiiiiight."  I left the store red-faced and shamed.  Eric never really talked to me much after that.  But I rocked that disco outift, panty panels and all.     

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