Last Tuesday night, my boss-man ambled over to my bar. He leaned in towards me, and asked, "Do you have any nice clothes?" Who are you asking? I can't get a date, so I shop. A lot. Borderline addicted. If by borderline you mean "utterly and hopelessly". Anyhoo, yeah, I have all kinds of clothes. And then, he walked I away. I thought it was just another incident of boss-man being all weird and stuff.

Thursday afternoon, at our weekly staff meeting, again, my boss leaned in close. "Can you come in street clothes and work Saturday night from 7-11, and help Adam run the floor?" Sure.

I picked an awesome outfit. I looked all professional and stuff. I didn't have any authority or anything. I just was helping to seat guests, and greet tables when servers were busy and pre-bus tables and what have you.

The shift went well. Several of my favorite regulars came in. I was given a bottle of Cabernet. As things were winding down, one of our regulars came in to meet a friend. Normally, he sits at the bar. Tonight, he mentioned that he was meeting a lady. I offered him a table in the middle of the restaurant, a four-top. I did another lap around the place, and stopped by the table to chat. I was gonna to lean on the back of the chair, and look all suave and shit, and also take the weight off my feets. I wore heels, because it was only a 4 hour shift. It was maybe not the smartest move, but the shoes looked cute, dammit! As I tried to balance all the wagon I'm draggin', I heard a distinct "RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIP" And suddenly, it was a bit more breezy in my tuchas region.

You have got to be kidding. First, the night of Jacob and Noel's semi-annual party, I face-planted into the door. And then, tonight, I done ripped open my drawers britches!

I am so awesim!

JAZZ HANDS!