By Lorry Myers
It was going to be hot at the picnic; even under the shade of the shelter, there would be no relief. Knowing this, I decided to wear something light and easy and open to any breeze that came my way. I chose a cotton T-shirt dress, one shaped like a triangle so it would swing when I walked and stir the air around me.
My husband really liked the dress.
We had to park a ways and walk a bit to the picnic area. The shelter was beginning to fill so we quickly grabbed our seats, securing chairs near one of the wind fans brought in to move the air. By now Randy had broken out in a sweat and my skin had turned sticky and damp despite my light weight dress. When it was time to eat, we filled our plates and took our seats and tried to be as cool as everyone else.
I wiped my sweaty hands on my dinner napkin, counting the minutes until I could escape to the car air conditioning. Underneath my hair was damp and my skin was clammy and I had all the bottled water I could stand. The finale of the picnic would be door prizes, and when that started, we would slip out.
I never win anyway.
They called the first winning number and just like that, I was a winner. Impulsively, I jumped out of my chair with my sweaty arms raised over my head in celebration. I just so happened to jump in front of the giant fan and when I did, the force of the air pressed the back of my cotton dress onto my hot skin and there it stayed.
I swear that dress clung to me in places that no dress ever should. I foolishly believed that I could walk it off but when I took those first few steps, that dress crawled right up my clammy legs and gathered in an unfortunate place in the back.
You know what I mean.
I knew there was a long walk ahead of me between those rows of picnic tables with everyone watching and waiting for me to get to the front with my winning ticket. That meant my backside and the awkward placing of my dress would be on full display.
Nobody wants to see that.
So I stopped for half a second and gave my dress a slight tug. I quickly found out that a tug was not enough; I needed to tug the same time I took a step. Then, if I tugged the dress every time I took a step and added in a little wiggle, I could feel the fabric slowly come unstuck.
In all places but one.
For the complete column, please see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.