Hold the Whip, Please!

Hold the Whip Please!

I am a foodie through and through. Cooking and eating are two of my most favorite past times, but lately I’ve been trying to keep a better watch on what I’m eating and commit to being more active.

Yesterday I noticed a little extra wiggle room in my dress pants, so today I tried to squeeze into a pair that didn’t fit me the entire winter, and, wah-lah, they fit!!

(Admittedly, they weren’t as comfy as yesterday’s pants, but I wasn’t uncomfortable either, so, I’ll take it).

Just my luck, today kicked off Starbucks annual Frappuccino Happy Hour. All fraps are half off.

To make matters worse, there’s one “on-campus” at my work.

Of course I indulged.

Between meetings I grabbed a tall java chip frappuccino (light), with whip. (The whip was a last minute add-on though; resistance was futile).

I should mention when I attend meetings, I’m always juggling (at a minimum) a wireless mouse, my laptop, a notebook, a pen and my iPhone.

I never have pockets in my pants, so I just stack everything on top of the laptop like a little jenga puzzle and slowly balance my way from one destination to another.

Add my frap to the mix, and today I was really tempting fate.

High fives to me! I SURVIVED the trip to my 2:00 meeting, so enjoyed sipping the whipped cream for the next half hour, and then headed to my next conference room with all my belongings (and the frap) in tow.

Just as I was exiting, I nearly smacked into the Network Manager on his way into the room I was leaving.

I barely missed him (whew), but my phone slid off the laptop onto the floor, and without thinking, I squatted down to retrieve it (trying not to lose the mouse, notebook, pen or frap, too).

And there it was, riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

Sounded like a fart, and might’ve been less embarrassing if it was. But, no, it was about six inches of the inseam down my left inner thigh splitting, in slow motion.

I stood up. My ever so porcelain thigh popped out, and the Network Manager walked away, silently.

Friggin’ whipped cream.

There was nothing I could do, really. No time to react, nothing to say, just time for another meeting.

So, I high-tailed it to the next meeting room and contemplated how, tomorrow, I’d have them hold the whip, please.

Published by Nicole

My name is Nicole, also known as Nickle Pickle. I’m a pudgy little red-head with a knack for landing myself in compromising situations, largely due to my endless wardrobe malfunctions, general dorkiness and complete lack of grace which makes me, well, me.

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