Dinner was done.
But more importantly, so was my dress.
My overwhelming sense of panic cut the festivities short. Before I could even take note of what actually happened, I was already up on my feet with instinct leading the way.
I knocked into our unsuspecting waiter at the patio doors, sending plates of white rice, steamed vegetables, and soup crashing to the floor. Thankfully, the mess had just missed me by a few inches. If not, I probably would’ve gone down with it. My intention was to apologize or to at least offer him a tip for the inconvenience, but I was forced to be rude. The unthinkable had occurred and my pride wouldn’t let me rest until I was alone.
I’d just leaked all over myself.
The admission was too far-fetched to embrace at first. My dress started to cling to my backside and I could feel the warmth reassure me on just how real this situation had gotten.