Rollin, Rollin, Rollin...

I attended the funeral of David's 33 year old son today. David is Gayle's husband and Gayle is the lady who keeps Abbey for me during the week. We consider David and Gayle great friends of ours. I had never met his son, Barry (for reasons that are too much to get in to right now, David and Barry had a strained relationship), but I felt that I needed to be there to show my support of David and Gayle and their whole crew. We get along with all of them great, and have spent many evenings in their backyard BBQ'ing with them all.

Now, I seriously hope that I'm not being disrespectful by relaying this story. But I'm going to anyway.

I dressed for the funeral in a cute little black and gray dress with tights and flat heeled riding boots. When I arrived for the service, I found it to be standing room only. I sent up a little "thanks" that something made me change my mind at the last minute and take off the high heeled boots that I originally had on and replace them with the far more comfortable flat boots. Obviously I would be standing for a while! I wiggled my way past a crowd and into the funeral home, finding a space out in the waiting room that was in the middle of a doorway. Standing there, I was straining my hardest to hear what was being said in the next room. I was looking around amazed at the amount of people who attended his memorial. People were literally out to the sidewalk.

Then it happened.

Remember I mentioned that I wore tights? Well, the waistband started a slow roll down. My eyes popped wide open and I shifted from one foot to the other foot, thinking that if I cocked my hip it would stop the momentum of the roll. Well, it didn't. The slow downward trek of my tights waistband continued. The dress that I had on was slightly clingy, and I can only imagine what this looked like from behind, because surely the lowering waistband roll was visible as it made it's slow descent down my hips. Starting to panic now, I slammed my hip into the door frame, pinning the waistband between the door frame and my body. Mission accomplished! The waistband had stopped rolling. But now I was left with a new problem - what am I supposed to do now? How can I leave this spot?? My waistband was about an inch away from rounding the downward curve of my hips - and then I could only picture how fast my tights would end up around my knees. I'm very ashamed to say that I missed about 80% of the ceremony worrying about my dilema. I began looking around, searching for the nearest bathroom. If it was close, I could duck in there as soon as the service was complete and hike these atrocious things back up where they belong. BINGO! I see the restroom sign just around the corner. With my hip still firmly smooshed against the doorframe, I solemly listened to the remainder of the prayers. As the minister concluded his final speech, I darted to the bathroom doing sort of a cross between a penguin waddle and a crab shuffle. Thankfully, the restroom was empty and I was able to dart in quickly. I locked the door behind me and turned around to see what the rolled up lump looked like under my dress. Well - it looked about as what you would imagine it would. It looked like I had a squirming snake rolling down my a** under my dress. So, I yanked up my dress and hitched the tights back up, all the while cursing the man (a woman would NEVER have invented these) who came up with the bright idea of two nylon tubes topped with a 10" around elastic waistband. I'm sorry - but having one size range from 120 lbs to 180 lbs is just rediculous.

So, anyway. That was my great rolling waistband caper. I quietly exited the bathroom as if nothing was amiss and made my way to the condolence line.

I think I'm going straight to H - E - double hockey sticks.