CALIFORNIA SCREAMING

We were in California, land of sunshine and surfing.  The weather was as close to heaven as it gets, with a turquoise sky blessedly free from clouds, warm, friendly sun, and to top it off, enough of a little breeze to help you from being too hot. 

In short, perfect.

For people like me and my husband, it was a huge treat.  We love to bask in the sun.  We were there for our niece’s wedding, and if a little sun-kissed skin was the by product, so much the better.

In preparation for attending the actual wedding ceremony, we had packed our “good clothes” meaning a suit coat & tie for my husband and a shimmery blue/black dress for me.

I had been in love with that dress ever since I tried it on at Dress Barn.  (And you Dress Barn people?  The name of your store frankly sucks.  Barn?  Really?  Really??)

But back to my dress, which was light and floaty, and twirled out nicely for all the dancing I would surely do.  After all, I had a beautiful, sparkly, twirly dress!

The wedding evening arrived and I donned the dress, but first put on a black v-neck full slip.  My friend would term that a “sucker-inner”.    Something ominous niggled in the back of my mind about that slip, but I shrugged it off.

Dressed in my finery, I went to do my makeup and to my horror, realized that the careful sunscreen application to my face had resulted in perfectly protected skin, with the glaring exception of where my hands didn’t quite meet on my forehead, resulting in a deep red V directly under my hairline.  It was a crimson widow’s peak, under my ACTUAL widow’s peak.

I stared at it, aghast.  It was the shape of an upside down parking cone, and to me, was just as big.  A sunburned chest, shoulders, or back I could hide.  Actually, pretty much any other area of my body that was sunburned I could cover, but this was on my face, for crying out loud.

Makeup didn’t come close to covering it, unless of course I caked on some clown whiteface and went as a new cast member of Twilight.

I ended up leaving it alone, and instead of the Twilight cast I looked more like a member of the Star Trek fleet.  Captain Kirk would have been proud.  I sighed.  So be it.  We left for the reception.

Everything about the wedding reception was elegant.  After dinner people started to dance and I couldn’t wait to join them.  However, Mother Nature had given me a lovely parting gift at O’Hare Airport right before arriving in California.  Shaking my groove thing was not only unpractical, it was bordering on dangerous.

Making matters much, much worse was the fact that I figured out within the first hour what it was I needed to remember about that slip.

Quite simply, it was the slip from hell.  It had a mind of its own and would mysteriously and quickly twist itself off kilter so that the seams were running uncomfortably down my front and back, instead of on my sides.  Did I mention that it also crept up until my knee length slip turned in a “no” length slip?  Bottom line:  it was twisted and bunched around my waist, even when I was sitting COMPLETELY STILL.

I was in the ladies’ every fifteen minutes straightening it, tugging it down and back into place.

What had started as my selfish dream of wearing a lovely, twirly, sparkly, floaty dress and surely wowing people on the dance floor with my sweet dance moves turned into a fashion nightmare, as I was constantly either straightening my slip or pulling my bangs down further over my forehead. 

I mentioned my distress to my husband, who helpfully told me that maybe the slip was trying to actually get up high enough to cover my forehead.  

It wasn’t helpful.

It was a highly emotional week for me already…trying to keep travel plans in order, fulfilling family obligations, staying cheerful, and missing my kids dreadfully, although I am relatively certain THAT feeling was mostly one sided.

To have these two fashion faux pas (s) happen simultaneously was really cosmically unfair.

In retrospect, I can say with certainty that absolutely no one else (besides my long-suffering husband and now you, dear reader) noticed the traffic light on my face or the fact that my slip was trying to go back to Illinois without me.  My fashion 911 went virtually unnoticed by all, and somehow, miraculously, the reception continued on just fine.

However, we recently got the pictures back from our trip and while I thought the dress was at least SOMEWHAT flattering while looking in a mirror, it did not look like that in the pictures.  At all.  It more resembled a silky blue boat cover.

My husband looked at the pictures and diplomatically said that it was the dress that didn’t photograph well.  Bless him.

My sister helpfully told me that no one in our family takes a flattering picture from that angle.  Hm.

And I just nod and smile, because they don’t know what I do.  The black slip that caused me so much distress was unceremoniously left in the garbage can at the hotel room in California. 

However, I believe it’s seeking revenge.  It must have escaped, made it back to Illinois, and ended up at the same Walgreens that developed these pictures.  There can be no other explanation for the “epic fail” that was my party dress.

I've fallen and I can't get up...

OMG.
It has happened again, and this time, I thought I was done with this falling down business. 
Really?  (indulgent chuckle)
Not so fast, Poopwa.
A few weeks ago when it snowed so bad on February 2, I got up to take dog-and-friend out.  He is a 9 month old lab puppy and along with all that lab puppiness comes a newly realized great brute strength.
I came to know this brute strength intimately one fateful day when I put on a pair of boots, strapped the leash on the dog, and opened the door, only to almost immediately be pulled off the porch and onto the stair by way of my shoulder.  It happened so fast that I didn't even knew I fell. 
I painfully get to my feet.
After brushing off my pride and putting it back on, we made our way around the yard on what is affectionately (ha) known as the "pooping perimeter".  After Cooper finished off his business, I decided a trek down the driveway was in order to fetch our newspaper. 
Coming back with the paper, however, I managed to fall right on my back in a drift.  I must have looked like a turtle, fallen back on my big shell of a coat, arms and legs moving feebly, but not able to get up.  Couldn't even blame it on the dog.
Fast forward to getting the mail at the post office in heels a week later.  Knowing I was at great risk for falling, I paced myself with mincing little steps and I was inches away from getting in my car and driving away, and it happened again.  I fell flat on my face before I knew what was happening, and it couldn't have been when no one was looking, could it? 
No.
I was asked by two different people who watched me fall if I was ok.  I could have had a broken leg and I would have dragged myself into the car and driven however many miles I needed to before I would have stopped to check the injury and staunch the bleeding. 
It took a week to get over how badly it all hurt.
Today, I took the dog out on his leash and we made it into the backyard with no problem.  Suddenly he spied a squirrel, and swiftly came around behind me running at a full gallop and before I could say "this is gonna hurt" I was flat on my back in the mud.  Curiously the first thing I thought was "Lord I hope no one saw that" and the second was "how's my hair?"
I chained him to the stake so that I could stomp angrily up to the house and go into the bathroom to change my muddy wet pants. 
Looking out into the back yard, though, I didn't see the dog chained and was terrified that he took off out of the yard, breaking the chain somehow.  He's done it before.
My husband accompanied me this time outside to help me look for the dog, but Cooper was still in the yard.  (He actually did break the chain.)
As we walked into the back yard, I grabbed our new corded stake out tie to put it on the stake so that he could have 30 feet to maneuver instead of 10.
He seemed to adjust to the new weight of the tie out pretty well, so my husband grabbed a softball and lobbed it gently about 20 feet away.
"Get the ball, Cooper." he happily yelled.
Cooper took off like a shot after the ball.  Looking down, I realize my foot is smack dab in the middle of a loop of chain, and as I am processing this alarming bit of information, the dog has pulled out enough lead that the wire burns itself around the side of my ankle and ONCE AGAIN, twice in one day, I'm on my back, mirroring an episode of Deadliest Catch where the guys catch their legs in the throw ropes of the lobster cages as they're tossing them overboard.
Except this time I'm hurt, embarrassed to the point of tears, and do my best impression of a 5 year old as I actually burst into tears and run to the back door.

Lord, I hope no one saw that.
Damn dog.