Last week as I sat down for Wednesday night Bible study, I gasped. I could feel the cold church pew; not through my jeans, but very close to my bare skin. I slowly reached my hand back to find a rip, a large rip, running up the back of my pants. I quickly lean over to my sister and whisper that I'm going to run home and change pants. Then I realize, there is no way for me to gracefully (and modestly) get up and walk out of the building while everyone else is sitting down and eye level with my bum. So I sit through the entire study and once almost everyone has cleared the building, I get up, stick my purse over my backside (thank goodness I love big handbags!), and try to sneak out the side door. I'm about five feet from freedom when the door opens up and one of my best friend's husband comes walking through the door.
Robert: How are you?
Me: Fine. (As I try to keep my backside away from him, so I'm doing this awkward side step to the door.)
Robert: Are you okay?
Me: I'm fine. (Still trying to side step to the door while Robert looks at me like I've lost my mind.)
Robert: What are you doing? Are you hiding something?
Me: (embarassment and redness climbing into my face) I don't want to tell you!
Then of course, I spilled the whole story to Robert, who laughed and laughed. In fairness to Robert, it wasn't because I didn't want him to know, but because I know he will never let me live it down!
One day I will write a book of all the crazy situations I've gotten myself into over the course of my life but nobody would believe me in the treehouse,