Pour Some Sugar On Me

Jay and I went out on a date Saturday night. Yes, we've lived together a little over 2 years now and I still call it a "date" when we go out to dinner or a movie or both together. The categorization drives me to put a little extra care into my appearance, so that we'll look like a nice couple rather than just Jay and Kerrie grabbing a bite to eat. For Saturday's date, my extra care resulted in my skinny jeans with a low cut brown top and matching wedge heels. I looked cute!

So cute that, when Jay suggested a trip to Graeter's at the end of our meal, I was feeling up to the challenge.

"Challenge?" You ask.

Yes. For someone shy like me, going to Graeter's on a Saturday night in the middle of summer is a challenge. Walking through those doors feels like you're the new kid in an old west town and you've just jingled & jangled your spurs right on through the swingin' saloon doors. Like this:


Only, they don't serve beer at Graeter's, so maybe a little more like this:


And, since it's 2007, women are now allowed to leave the house, so it should probably look like this:


Okay, I'm just getting sidetracked. The point is...there's an overwhelming feeling that everybody there knows everybody else there and they're all wondering who the Hell you are. Conversations stop. Heads turn. Everybody stares. It's like one big room full of people who were never taught proper manners by their mothers...who are sitting right there beside them staring and enjoying ice cream.

Anyhow, I looked so darn cute that I was willing to face the scrutiny. And it went well. I was feeling confident - I was looking good...right up until I was trying to scrape that last bit of creamy goodness out of my bowl. That's when everything went horribly wrong. I lost my grip on the spoon. It slipped around in the clear, plastic bowl...sending a wave of melted ice cream directly onto my moderately exposed cleavage.

Yep. One swift wave of my spoon turned a wholesome trip to the ice cream parlor into a soft core porn photo shoot.

I was mortified. There was nothing I could possibly do that would not draw every eye in the room to "the girls" and asking Jay to help was...well...out of the question. But I did anyway. He happily obliged. And now he'll probably be known to Graeter's patrons forever as the guy who leaned across the table just to cop a feel. Something tells me he might be okay with that...