It's not very often that you get the chance to say this, but happy leap year people!
Supposedly, February the 29th is the one day a year that a woman can propose to a man... So, before we begin- I would just like to make it known that I will not be one of those women... ever. When I get engaged, there will be romance. The tale of the proposal will go down in history and be the stuff of engagement dreams. Super nice. But call me traditional- which I think I am, in every engagement imagining I've ever permitted myself, I have never once been the proposer- I've always being the proposed to; the one asked, not the asker. This is not about to change... Poor Dave, please don't read this and be put off... but you've got a lot to live up to in a few years' time, my friend!
Anyhoo, back to reality. This blog is based on a rather blush-worthy incident that I believe happened last night. However, I could be totally and utterly wrong: this incident may have happened last week. If that's the case, my rosy cheeks may well rocket off the blushometer.
Last night, I was driving to work which- to be honest, wasn't that exciting. When I arrived, I parked the car (as you do) and then had a read of my book as I had a bit of time. Unfortunately, the book took an exciting plot turn, completely engrossing me and making me forget that I was sat in my car in a very uninspiring car park. Catching a glance of the clock, I suddenly realised that I was about to be late.
Throwing my book aside, I grabbed my relevant music books and flung the door wide open. And then- that may or may not be the moment when I heard an ominous 'rip' as I hurried to get out of the car. You see- I have forgotten to mention that I was actually wearing a rather smart and fitted dress to the knee. It was so fitted in fact, that it didn't really give you much room to move. It actually made driving a little tricky as you can only really move from the knee's down. This dress is also not conducive to running. Likewise, it has a very specific car-exiting manoeuvre... that I don't believe I properly applied.
So at one point or another, I somehow managed to rip the back of my dress. Yes, there was already a split at the back. No, it wasn't intended to reach the top of my leg...
Did anyone think to mention this to me? No.
Did I even notice? No, not until I got home and was changing into my pyjamas.
The thing is, I can't recall when the dress ripping incident actually occurred. For all I know, it could have happened a fortnight ago. Maybe it was last week? I just don't know. What I do know though, is that it was rather embarrassing.
I'm sure this won't be the last blush-worthy incident, but I'll be honest- there have been many many more! But that's for another blog.
Thank goodness for computers: at least you can't see my rosy complexion!
Ladies- beware of the pitfall's of the fitted dress. Let this experience be a lesson...
Mx
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