REDEMPTION

Loyal Reader, if you have not read Floss Fiasco yet, you must read that post first in order to fully appreciate what I am going to reveal next.

Recently, Girl8.5 and I embarked on another adventure to the East.  I have not been able to stop thinking about how I shamed myself, my family, and my dentist when I sailed through Cle Elem's Cottage Cafe last summer.  I have been eager to redeem myself at said establishment, proving that I truly do have good dental hygiene habits and am an all-around, good person.

As we got closer to the Cottage Cafe, I dreamed of how I would proudly beam at every customer at the pie counter as I sashayed out of the bathroom.  Although I wasn't wearing my highly touted travel skirt of the summer road trip, I would still be able to glide past the booths in my comfortable yoga pants.  Hopefully no one would notice that I had dripped a little bit of sandwich goop on them at lunch time.  My pearly whites would practically blind my new admirers, and that fated day would be erased from their minds.  I could not wait to eat dinner.

Negotiating our car, Frida, through the potholes in the gravel parking lot, I felt up to the challenge of clean eating, with no pepper residue.  I ordered a salad, knowing that a spinach leaf covering three front teeth was a potential disaster.  As I was packing dental floss in my purse, I was confident that nothing could stop me from being the Most Memorable Customer.  In a good way, of course.

Girl8.5 and I thoroughly enjoyed our meals, exchanging pleasantries and not staring overtly at the other diners.  After paying, we made our customary trek to the rest room.  Girl8.5 was pleased that the toilet was not automatic.  I reviewed my teeth in the chipped mirror and was pleased to note that I was clean as a whistle.  I swiped some floss through the obvious places just for good measure.  I fluffed my hair and prepared to make my most glamorous exit.  I impatiently waited for Girl8.5 to wash her hands.  As soon as she was reaching for the paper towels, I headed to the door, eager for redemption.

"Mama!", Girl8.5 hissed.

"Come on!", I urged.

"Mama!  Stop!",  Girl8.5 commanded.

I turned impatiently to her.

"You have something on your pants!"

I froze.  "WHAT?!"

She went behind me and carried out a brief inspection of my yoga pants.  No pun there, Delighted Reader.  She poked at my backside.  "What IS that?"

I put my hand to the offending area.  It felt strangely sticky.  I stood on my tiptoes and tried to get a good view in the chipped mirror of my derriere.  "What IS that?", I echoed.  The sticky area was accompanied by a dark spot.  I grabbed at a paper towel and got it wet.  Swabbing the tacky area was a terrible technique.  The brown paper towel shredded with each swipe, leaving little shards of paper towel lint stuck to my yoga pants.  With each damp dash, the dismaying discoloration deepened.  With each pasty pat, more particles were planted to my posterior.

I squeaked in horror.  "I must have sat in something in that booth!"  Brushing the paper pieces was a pointless gesture, as it only served to roll them up into bigger bits, still stuck to my bottom.  The more I fussed, the bigger the fiasco became.

My new dream title, Most Memorable Customer, was quickly developing a new meaning.  Short of climbing out of the nonexistent bathroom window, the only way out was my previously planned parade route.  What I had imagined to be my runway had instantly become my walk of shame.

I considered my exit options.  I could gallop to the door, although that had the likely possibility of attracting more attention than necessary.  I could walk sedately to the door with my hands awkwardly behind my back, in an attempt to cover the crumbs.  On further thought, this seemed as if it would also invite unwanted interest.  In the end, I tried to walk out as normally as possible.  I suspect I was walking like Groucho Marx, knees bent a little too much and taking extra large steps.  All I cared about was getting out the door and into the dark parking lot.  I tried smiling in every which way, to at least prove my good dental hygiene habits.  In hindsight, I probably looked like a grinning bobble head, but at the time I was thinking that I could distract scrutiny from the back.

Did I redeem myself, Snickering Reader?  I fear not.  All I did was create a bigger challenge for the next road trip.