Haste makes red face
There are times when I write this column when I feel like I might give the illusion that I have my life put together. If I’m being honest, with the power of the pen I could script through these paragraphs the façade of something picture perfect.
But that’s not fun. It’s also not true. And if we can’t laugh at ourselves, we’re missing some good material.
First, some background information. I had recently donated a private dance fitness class for a fundraiser. An amazing woman purchased the class as a Christmas gift for her friends. “I like to give my friends an experience,” she said. I thought it was a brilliant idea! Latin dancing to Christmas music sounded like a great way to celebrate the holiday with some gal pals.
I knew that before I was going to introduce this nice lady and her friends to salsa and other such moves, I would have already taught two fitness classes that morning. Knowing how I tend to look like I ran through a sprinkler after I work out and how the aromatic scent of my sweat is less than pleasant, I thought I would do the right thing and change my clothes before their class began.
On a side note, much to my mother’s chagrin, I am not a big fan of laundry or folding. More than once I have taken things from the dryer and tossed them in a basket only to set the basket in the closet where I rummage through in hopes of two clean things that match.
To set the scene of that day in the fitness studio, I had just a few minutes between my last class and when the donated class started. In filed the ladies, all dressed well and with fantastic class. In fact, they were so sophisticated that I became instantly nervous because I wanted them to really enjoy my class. I welcome them and chatted for a minute and then announced that I wanted to change out of my sweaty stink clothes before their class began.
Nerves tingling, I grabbed clothes from my bag and sprinted to the locker room to change.
You know how sometimes in the dryer clothes get tangled up in each other where they aren’t supposed to be? And sometimes when you don’t fold them you don’t know they’re even there?
As the story goes, when I came back into the studio the lovely woman asked, I hope jokingly, “What kind of class is this?” and referenced to the middle of the room where in my haste and laziness an old pair of underwear had fallen out of my wadded up clothes and was splayed out for all to see.
Note to self: Fold your laundry but be thankful that when you drop undergarments in a public place, at least they are clean.
Originally written 12.4.16