BUCKET SEATS...

Mama should have given me a far different middle name. Mine means famous warrior. Surely there is one out there that means acute clumsiness. If someone moves a drop of air from the living room to the kitchen, I will fall over it. Forget about rocks or furniture, if there is a blade of grass that has grown taller than all the rest out there in the yard, I can find it and stumble over it.

So the RWA Conference was over and we’d snagged a cushy ride back to the airport with another author so the price didn’t make my bank account whimper. Had the best visit with the driver and other author the whole way. Then he parks right in front of the outside check in so all I have to do is get out of the black van, walk a few steps and boom, we are on our way back to Oklahoma.

It was the “getting out of the van” that got me into trouble. Mr. B was sitting on the side next to the curb and he hopped out to help get out bags all sorted out. All I had to do was slide over, carefully find the step down on the side of the van, and I was on my way.

I slid before I remembered that the cushy black car did NOT have a bench back seat. My fanny wasn’t wide enough to hook the edge of the other bucket seat (maybe I didn’t eat enough cheese cake while in New York). It was wider than the space between the seats and stuck firmly right there. Evidently, I did eat entirely too much cheesecake while in New York City.

One foot went up under the front passenger’s seat and the other one got tangled up in my gypsy skirt, which thank the Lord, had the grace not to fly up over my head. So there I was stuck between two seats like a hot dog in a bug and I could not get any kind of traction to pull myself up. Those seats were hugging me like a long lost sister and visions of being buried in that black van flashed through my mind.

And that’s when I heard the tinkling sound. My purse had fallen out onto the street and the contents had fallen out for all the world to see. That put me into third gear and I tried desperately to pull myself up. Nothing doing! It was like quicksand pulling me down between those seats.

Finally, the poor little driver came to my rescue and I’m sure he’s seeing a chiropractor this whole week after helping me out of that predicament. But the thing I worried most about was my purse…not my phone, not my wallet or even my favorite ink pen but I did not want all those staring eyes to see that pair of bright pink granny panties stuck inside the purse. I do go prepared especially when I have a head cold and a terrible cough…but I sure didn’t want the whole world to see!

The rest of the story…Mr. B hurriedly put all the items back in my purse and in my haste that morning I’d forgotten to pack my emergency under britches, so I was saved!

Lessons learned…zip your purse, Carolyn! AND check the seats before you slide.

Today I'm giving away a signed copy of  The Trouble with Texas Cowboys! I'll chose a winner tonight from the folks who comment on this blog. What was your recent embarrassing moment...or just comment if it was so bad you can't talk about it!

Ready...set...go!