Embarassing Moments

I was kickin' it with Cate and Sam last night. We drove accross town to the venue for drinks. Why? I do not know because the roads were icy, and when we arrived, we found the coctails to be obscenely overpriced. But you can't put a price on good friends and good stories. Cate was perched timidly on the fine leather lounge chair and kept racing to the restroom as she had a case of the "McGurggles," except that this time the McGurggles were not caused from an indulgence of fast food but rather the spicy curry-love of The Oven, one of Lincoln's Indian restaurants. Sam and I were giggling like children at Cate's predicament, and Cate, not wanting to cut the evening short, put on a brave face going to and from the restroom. To ease her shame, I told her how a couple of weeks ago I had my hair done at an upscale salon, well as upscale as you can get in Lincoln, but still pretty fancy. When paying the bill, the dark and stormy male receptionist asked me to fill out a new customer conact information sheet. I obliged and began scrawling away until I noticed half-way down the page that I was leaving a trail of blood and had forgotton to dot a couple of "I"s. I let the "I"s off the hook and examined my hand and noticed that a paper cut from the previous day had bursted open from the slight pressure of the pen in my hand. I was mortified and tried to rub away the blood, well actually it was more of a smear around my hand. But still, I thought this might look less conspicuous. (I know this seems silly but it's all I had). So I'm fidgeting around while the receptionist finishes processing my credit card. I hand him my contact sheet and mention casually, "Oh, there's seems to be a smudge on there," as he eyes it suspiciously. At least I didn't start bleeding until he had already punched in the amount on the credit card machine. If I were him, I might have included a clean-up fee on the ticket.