Weekend Snapshots: I Fell Edition

Before we talk about anything else, I need to tell you that our son is now as in love with his vest as he is with his fedora. I, of course, can’t say that these developments make me anything short of thrilled.

“Please may I have my hat?”

“I’m serious. UNHAND THE HAT. Or my lip will tremble.”

“Better. Thank you.”

(Hey, I get it. Hats are awesome. Now I just have to teach him this.)

After a failed attempt at completing the look with sunglasses, we headed to brunch at Mint.

Next up: Virgil-bonding time, shooting with Wilsons Leather (more on this in a moment), and waiting for Paige to arrive to spend the night.

After dinner (Dr. Pepper Pulled Pork Fajitas), we decided to make it a Girls Night and head into town for a post-dinner drink at The Tapp.

Here’s what’s nice about hanging out with friends who’ve known you for years and years: they already know what to expect, and in the case of Paige and me that means that she expects at least one extremely embarrassing incident that a) involves a dramatic collapse and b) requires the assistance of three or more total strangers.

As an example, last time I visited Paige in LA we went out for sushi, and on my way to the bathroom I tripped over my bag-strap and did this sort of tragic windmill move that resulted in me inserting my entire hand into the soy sauce bowl of the woman sitting at the next table while simultaneously doing what amounted to a hula-dance in her face.

On Saturday night, I thought I’d go for an encore presentation.

In my defense, that was a very large step, and it was very dark.

(Just so you know, I didn’t actually wear a pink bow on top of my head, and Paige doesn’t actually sit around indoors in sunglasses. I just thought those little details would help to illustrate the point, and the point is that Paige sat there looking very chic and normal while I sailed through the air in the direction of the floor with all the grace of a blonde camel.)

Anyway, I really fell. I know this because literally half the bar surrounded me to ask if I was OK – “No, ma’am, but seriously: do you need an ice pack?” – and because two days later, I have some very attractive proof adorning a part of my body that I can’t show you.

What’s especially wonderful about this particular moment in my life is that my town is populated by approximately seven people, meaning that there is a zero percent chance that I will not run into a decent percentage of the witnesses of Saturday night’s events at some in-the-not-too-distant-future PTA meeting.

powered by chloédigital