Feel my butt

Not the best title I could have come up with for this post but this is what I finished up saying to anyone and everyone after I'd been to Denny's on Thursday night. It was not my fault that I wet my pants. I blame Coronation Street.

My weekly treat is to indulge in an ice cream sundae with my friend R. We normally have our girlie night on a Wednesday but this week we had to reschedule to Thursday - Corrie night. Usually, we both have strawberry flavoured sauce but on this occasion, I demanded chocolate. I'd just had words with my Beloved and I wasn't in the best of moods.  Can you believe that his final parting shot to me as I stormed out the door was, "What exactly IS a neanderthal?" I rest my case! R's beloved didn't benefit from my mood when I swung by to grab his wife either. His fault for having testosterone probably but I'm sure I can make it up to him at some point without actually having to actually admit that I was at fault for chewing his ears off.

Anyway, it was Thursday and I was sacrificing television history for a chocolate flavoured ice cream sundae. Being more than 18 months behind in NZ, we are only just up to the 50th anniversary tram crash (Street fans will understand the significance of this).

Anyway, I'm at Denny's with R and Corrie comes on their telly. Of course there's no sound or even subtitles, but that didn't stop me from being completely distracted from everything that was going on around me. I didn't even notice that R was sniggering and snapping pics of me staring at the screen behind her, completely missing my gaping mouth with my spoon. And no, you will not be seeing those pics here! Instead, here is a picture of a cute baby with slightly less ice cream smooshed into her face:

I thought I was doing rather well myself, being very discreet and making the right noises to what I thought was conversation. I'd barely noticed the nice young waiter bringing us full glasses of water. Suddenly, Fiz Stape flashed up on the screen in full birthing mode. Now, I've had four kids and can relate to this:

And THAT is how my drink went flying across the table, splashing nearby patrons before landing on the seat beside me. And yet somehow not a skerrick of the wet stuff went anywhere near my snap happy friend. I didn't want to make a scene (really??) so I sat frozen to my vinyl seat. Actually, the water had somehow travelled across, seeped under my butt and I was now STUCK to to my seat. Who knew that water had a sense of direction? Defying all the laws of gravity it began to work it's way from under my butt and up towards the front of my legs. It was all very dodgy- but probably not as questionable as a middle-aged woman holed up in the Ladies Room with her butt firmly positioned to catch the airflow of the hand dryer. I really should have remembered to close the door.

It didn't dry my butt OR give me any of the bacon promised in the second picture!