A Cautionary Tale
I’ve been urged, via the power of Twitter, to share a story that originally haunted me to such an extent that I felt physically nauseous at the very thought of it. Finally, five years down the line, I can laugh about the whole sorry affair.
Once upon a time I was a cosmetics consultant, trying to make a bit of jam (to go with the bread and butter earned by the Husband) while the kiddiwinks were in bed.
One of the perks of this job, because I was very good at it, was the opportunity to go to balls and gala dinners in fancy venues. There was the time we took a Champagne lunch on the Pommery Estate in Reims, the time we ate such delicate portions on Chelsea Harbour that there was nothing with which to soak up the alcohol, the time we took a flying lunch visit to Monaco, yep, Monte Carlo, as they were setting up for the Grand Prix, the beautiful dinner in the Hilton, Park Lane … I digress – deliberately.
You see, the first one of these events that I attended, I was incredibly nervous, and didn’t really feel worthy of my ticket. I was very careful to moderate my drinking so as not to embarrass myself or others. Familiarity can be a very dangerous thing because there came a time where I was not quite so careful and self-aware.
The lead in to the first recession was beginning to have an impact on our sales. I was beginning to become disillusioned with the company I was selling for. The booze and tickets for these lovely events were still free of charge (or achievable for me in terms of sales). The story I am about to tell is a hideous combination of all of the above, with added ‘over-worked, slightly flabby mother’ thrown in for good measure.
We (that is myself, my manager, and two fellow consultants/managers in our team) rocked up at the very lovely Radisson Edwardian Hotel in London and set about our business. In the evening, we slipped off to our rooms to freshen up and change into our evening attire. I had selected a Karen Millen silk camisole and skirt. The colours were stunning, my body less so. The outfit required the kind of sleek lines that can only be achieved (post-children) with the aid of Spanx.
I don’t know how familiar you are with Spanx? I don’t know if you are aware of how a lady can possibly use the lav whilst wearing these amazing ‘pants’?
I suspect you can see where this story is going by now. However, in the name of honesty, and so as not to be accused of being a ‘tease’ by Motherventing, I will share the whole sorry tale.
So, as I said, I was becoming disillusioned with the company. The day of this event consisted of the ‘powers that be’ sharing the coming season’s products with us … and let’s just say, I was less than impressed. I was certain that they (the very same ‘powers that be’) had no clue how much more difficult sales were becoming for us at ground level with the recession about to hit.
As I also said, in the evening the drinks were free-flowing.
And this is where it all goes so excruciatingly, hideously, painfully wrong.
I supped away at the red wine as if it were Ribena. After dinner I met up with some very high-flying ‘powers that be’ in one of the hotel bars. By this time I was pretty far gone, and somehow, in conversation, I felt it was appropriate to tell one of the buyers that the products she’s selected for the coming season were ‘shit’.
Thankfully, my manager had the sense to remove me from the bar before I shared too many more of my innermost thoughts with them … I say thankfully, because I later divulged to her that I thought ‘they’ were all c*nts, which, on reflection, seems a little harsh.
Now, as I say, I am thankful that my manager withdrew me from this particular situation before I disgraced myself further. But, oh I am cringing already.
How did I repay this motherly act of kindness? How did I express my gratitude?
Shall I tell you how?
Shall I answer the earlier question of how a lady pees in Spanx?
Spanx come with what I lovingly call a ‘wee hole’. And if one gets so paralytic that one passes out, legs akimbo, on the bed – in the hotel room she’s sharing with her manager – with her manager and two colleagues sitting at the end of said bed … guess what view they all get?
Yup, that’s right, a beautiful full frontal MUFF. I showed my muff to my boss. Jeez Louise, I thought I was over this and that it was finally a funny tale. Nope. It’s still turning my stomach. I am dying here with embarrassment. I bloody hope Motherventing and MamaBearWithMe are pleased with themselves and that you ALL get a really good giggle out of my inappropriate behaviour.