Unanticipated Paranoia

"Oh- good luck on Sunday..."

Such a friendly little phrase, such a seemly encouraging one. Used all the time. Nothing unusual- shouldn't be at all surprising to hear...

Except with that little phrase- muttered as I'm walking down to my car at the end of a mellow evening filled with take-out and a comfortable sense of ease...

Comes total horror.

It means one thing.

The man who has muttered it has read the blog.

And has read it recently.

I once walked across an entire restaurant with my skirt tucked into the back of my tights- not just a little- the entire back of my skirt was mashed in them- exposed to a restaurant full of diners. Wrinkles and folds of taffeta held glued to my ample tush by nylon and spandex- how I didn't notice as I left the restroom is still beyond me. I marched through a room of strangers back to my seat with my head held high- thinking not a hair was out of place and (because I'm that girl) what a great entrance I'd make coming across the room. All sweet and sass.

Not even a hushed "Um... you have a problem with your skirt... " from my dinner companion as I got to the table phased me.

No, it was the moment when I went to sit down, when my hand went to brush my beautiful purple skirt out of the way and found... no skirt... that the truth really sunk in.

The Blog- a total exercise in self indulgence... a way for me to keep my friends in the loop and to somehow document my odd little resolution, has been read by others. It may have been read by friends of friends. It may have been read by my sister... and Oh, lord perhaps even my brother. But what really throws me for a loop is it has been read by people I've written about- and I'm not just talking Ms. K.

And just like that purple taffeta moment- I'm oddly exposed... and a little bit horrified.