Before I get on with my post this evening, let me make sure you all know about my June contest. If you write me at Brenna.Zinn@BrennaZinn.com and put "Free Giveaway" in the subject line, you'll be entered to win a free copy of my latest release, His At Last, as well as Mi Torro, my sexy short story from the Destination Pleasure anthology. It's a great and EASY contest.
Also a quick shout out to Desiree Holt. Desiree featured me in her blog www.desireeholttellsall.com She's got information about His At Last, including some excerpts from the book. She's WONDERFUL. Thanks, Des!
Okay, now that the housekeeping is done, let me tell you a sad, totally gross, but unfortunately true story.
It starts one evening at a charity event. Imagine a $250 a seat banquet, local mucky mucks walking around in their monkey suits, glad-handing everyone, and me in my new dazzling cocktail dress and shoes so new they literally just came out of the box. These shoes are black satin slip ons. I wear size 9s and finding a beautiful pair of shoes that don't make me 6 feet tall is a special event for me.
I'm making the rounds, talking to people I don't know, sipping gratefully at cheap white wine that's being passed around by poor UT college students trying to make a few bucks. Though I am not a drunk (really Allie, I'm NOT), by the time dinner is about to be served, I'm definately feeling the white zin in the pit of my empty belly.
Side note - Not a good idea to drink on an empty tummy. Not even when you're on a diet, which I am always on.
I decide it's probably a good idea to use the ladie's room, freshen up, and wash my hands. Yes, all that glad-handing has left me wondering just what in the hell could possibly be lingering on my hands by now. (No, I'm not a germ-a-phobe, Allie!)
Here is where things get a little gross. Sorry, sorry, sorry, but this IS a true story.
So after I finish doing my thing in the stall, I prepare to flush. But I prefer not to touch the toilette handle with my hand (maybe I am a little bit of a germ freak). Instead, I lift my shoed foot to the handle. Being just a hint tipsy, as my foot prepares to press on the handle, the one leg I'm keeping upright with suddenly shifts on me, causing my lifted leg to shift as well. Unfortunately, like the makings of the tragic Titanic story, these two actions make my foot fall, and my beautiful new slip on shoe falls smack dab in the flushing toilet bowl.
The black shoe swirls around the bowl and looks as though it may actually make it all the way out the shoot, but doesn't. Thank God for size 9 feet!
Imagine me, dressed to kill in my cocktail dress, one foot in a pretty pair of slip ons, the other foot bare naked on the bathroom floor. I'm bent over the toilet, trying to out think my situation. How do I get the damned shoe out of the toilet bowl. I don't want to put my hand down there!
There is no happy ending to my tale. I end up walking rather awkwardly back to my table, where I remain seated the rest of the evening. One foot is considerably cooler and wetter than the other.
I have a pair of beautiful black slip on shoes for sale now. Barely worn. Size 9. Interested?
obviously you've been hanging with Allie Standifer too long, her trademark embarrassing situations have crossed over to you. Poor Brenna
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