One Time, At An Indian Restaurant (Yet Another Exposure Tale)

The Chicken Tikka Masala was sub-par and brought no comfort after I’d publicly groped myself a few minutes earlier.

I suppose I should start at the beginning.

Lindsey, Anna and I talked as we waited for our food to arrive – I can’t remember specifics, but I assume it was something along the lines of the true identity of Shakespeare.

William was such a rascal.

I was thoughtlessly rolling my necklace between my fingers as I spoke, when suddenly the strand broke.

You know how some pearl necklaces have knots tied between each bead so when it breaks they don’t all flow off?

Mine isn’t like that.

In the necklace’s defense, it is over 50 years old, so possibly my adding stress to ancient string was asking a wee bit too much.

But this post isn’t about fault.

It’s about what happened next.

The pearls rushed down my neck, flowing into my shirt. I could feel some catch in the cups of my bra and I immediately froze, worried any movement would send more sliding off the strand. I slowly reached up and grasped each end, pulling the tattered remains off my neck and placing it in my lap.

Looking across the restaurant I could see the waitstaff had stopped their discussion to look my way. Sadly their observation didn’t change what I knew I needed to do – reach into my shirt and retrieve the lost pearls.

Clearly trying to add to my shame, the pearls had sunk to the bottom of the cups, so to retrieve them I had to force my hand deep into my shirt while Lindsey and Anna laughed at my predicament.

Then came the terrible revelation.

Not all the pearls had been caught in my bra. Some had migrated down, to where my button-down shirt was tucked into my skirt.

To stand up and go to the restroom would have risked the pearls scattering across the restaurant.

The day before I could have claimed never to have stuck my hand up my skirt while sitting at a restaurant table, finding and retrieving pearl after pearl.

While today I’m just grateful my underwear was tight enough it escaped trapping any pearls of its own.

Thank goodness the food was bad

Because it’s likely I won’t be allowed back at that restaurant,

Megan

One Time, At An Indian Restaurant (Yet Another Exposure Tale)

Tagged as: Embarrassment is always funny in retrospect, I'm not an exhibitionist I just get exposed a lot, I've come to embrace the awkward, This stuff happens so often I should be used to it