And had to keep the good face going?

I was mortified last night. I shouldn't even write about this but... I can't help myself. It's too funny.

Tonight I was invited to an HRC event. Big fundraiser in Boston. I've been to a bunch of events- lousy food, lots of people, no big deal. Not tonight. I had a problem.

Jeanine and I met with some folks before the event in the bar and had a cocktail. The ice melting like mad, but I don't notice, I'm engrossed in conversation. I usually hold my glass... well... in my lap.

I stand up after the hour and oh my god. I had an enormous wet spot - where? My crotch. Great. I'm so embarrassed I can't see straight. I go to the ladies room- I'll take the pants off and blow dry them with the hand dryers.

ONLY THERE ARE NO HAND DRIERS. Just useless paper towels.

I'm mortified. I can't dry the enormous wet stain my cocktail glass has created. I look like I wet my pants. Or my water broke.

Ooops, I'm pregnant. must have sat on a bad toilet seat. my mother warned me... me and Sarah Palin. Or one of the Palin's.

I pace. I panic. I finally go out to Jeanine- she's alone- oh my god. I have to leave.

It's fine, she says.

IT'S NOT FINE I HAVE A HUGE WET SPOT.

No, really, it's fine.

We go upstairs.

I have an enormous wet spot and then I see Walter and Allan.

I didn't know it was black tie event. Allan, of course, is in a suit. Walter? black jeans and a shirt.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck. I set them up. I didn't know but I should have.

Fuck.

I'm sitting there with my jacket buttoned- did I mention I've had my period for about three thousand weeks in a row and hot flashes and the idea of a jacket is beyond me let alone buttoned.

But there I am with a GIANT WET SPOT- now drying- and I have to have my jacket buttoned. Hot flashes. Get me a cocktail, sweet jesus. Did I mention this is for HRC?

Finally, Walter, Jeanine, Allan and I circle. We all ridicule Jeanine's decision to bid on the most god awful ugly lamps. Fair play- Jeanine then points out my need for Depends. We ponder an instant auction item of Depends.

My pants are nearly dry by now. I still want to die.

I hate these events. But if I seemed exceptionally off? MY FUCKING PANTS WERE WET. I should have listened when my mother tried to teach me how to sit like a lady.

And I ended up with the ugliest lamps in the history of man. Oh, don't worry. When we get them? I'll upload some pictures.

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