Yesterday, Terry ran his first 10km. Everyone say “Yay, Terry!”
It was a proper race, too: with hills, and other people and stuff. Not like the 10ks I run in the gym. He got a t-shirt and a banana at the end of it and everything, which, quite frankly, is begging for some kind of “I ran for 10 kilometres and all I got was this lousy banana” joke, but I will refrain. (I don’t think he even ate the banana, either.)
Anyway, as I said, Yay, Terry! You rock! And also: roll. And that’s why last night we decided to go out to dinner to celebrate. I wore The Dress. You know, the one that was lost, and then was… well, was still lost, so was re-purchased, after huge amounts of whining on my part? THAT dress.
What I failed to consider, though, was that the dress is question has a huge skirt. And it was a very, very windy night. Which meant that, the second I stepped out of the car, the wind snatched up the skirt of the dress and pulled it right up over my head. Like Marilyn Monroe in The Seven Year Itch, only much less classy and my whole head was covered by it.
Just to make matters worse, when I finally managed to tear the fabric away from my head, I saw:
a) Terry doubled up laughing next to me
b) An entire balcony’s worth of people outside the restaurant, all just sitting there watching me as if I was the floor show. One man in particular stood and blatantly stared as I walked the rest of the way to the door with my skirt clutched between my knees and the wind still trying to drag it up around my face. That man was NO GENTLEMAN, let me tell you.
We had a nice meal, though. And I managed to keep my skirt in the proper place for the duration of it. I’m starting to think that dress is just unlucky, though…