The first night of my BlogHer trip I had dinner at a fancy restaraunt with some other lovely lady bloggers. The setting was lovely, the wine abundant, and the conversation lively and enjoyable.
It was a night out the likes of which haven't been seen by me in at least three years. Or ever, really, since I went to grad school in a very small town whose fanciest? fancyest? most fancy? restaraunt was Chili's. And we had no money.
So there I was, all dressed up in a dress and heels and not-babyproof jewelery, holding my Pinot and talking to my friend Sarah about how much grad school sucked and how much I miss it anyway, when another woman at the table innocently interrupted me.
And then I did something so embarassing that I repressed the memory until nearly a week later when I was lying in bed a time-zone and a world away from Chicago nursing Wesley back down at four o'clock in the morning.
I reflexively held up my index finger, and without looking at her, said (in my very best cheerful but firm mommy-voice of course) "Just a minute, Sweetie!" then picked right up where I'd left off with Sarah.
The room spun a little in my head when I realized what I'd done, but I tried to gloss over it by totally avoiding eye contact with the poor woman for at least twenty minutes until our appetizers arrived and provided a distraction.
And no, I did not try to cut her meat or push her drink back from the edge of the table.