So that title probably tells you exactly where this is going, and you'd be right.
You can dress me up, you can even take me out, but don't let me talk animatedly with a glass of red wine in my hand while standing on a white carpet, in a very expensive part of Vancouver, in a very expensive house belonging to people who can afford to hire a coat check girl, appy waiters, and cooks for the party.
Gar'on'teed I'll spill the wine on the carpet.
And gar'on'teed I'll try to pretend that it didn't happen, while discreetly trying to find a napkin and clean up the wine that is dripping down my pinky, onto the base of the glass, and again, onto the white carpet.
I mean, come'on. Who has a white carpet?? That's asking for a disaster to happen. And I'm the disaster that will happen.
I'm fairly sure my face went three shades of red during this pathetic show of grace.
What I did see during the later part of the night was someone cleaning up another part of the carpet with ginger ale. A part of the carpet that I was not standing anywhere near, thank you very much. So there!!! I guess I'm not the only clutz!
Oh yeah, know what? I DIDN'T get any wine on my dress. BOOM!