Note: In order to avoid overlong blog posts, I'm just going to stop at okay parts and start back up the next time where I left off. I was trying to make self-contained short anecdotes, but I'm too behind to do that now. Enjoy!
I felt like a rock star as my nominating friend Heather and I were led through a service door leading into the kitchen of the Autoport, the restaurant where I was about to be ‘unveiled’. I walked by someone sliding a creamy tangle of fettucini alfredo from a pan onto a plate and automatically I said “yummy.” The surprised staff person gave me an impatient glance, like “who the **** are you, and why are you here?” Chastened, I kept my mouth shut as I passed the other harried waitstaff skirting around us on their missions. Luckily the walk through the kitchen was short and we did not get lost in the bowels of the building, like some other faux-rock stars. (If the Autoport even has bowels).
Heather went ahead into the dining room to say a few words about why she nominated me for the makeover. I stayed back, waiting in a food prep area next to the swinging door to the dining room, my appointed entrance. The two Premier Models that had led us through the kitchen stayed with me. The Models were a beautiful blonde woman and a beautiful brunette woman. I identified them as Premier Models because their company-issued tank tops had "Premier Model" embroidered in the middle of their chests, but sported no nametags. It’s hard to ignore something written smack in the middle of a woman’s chest. I wondered if it bothered them to not have a nametag.
Anyway, I couldn’t think of their names and now their shirts were no help. If we’d been introduced, I’d forgotten it in all the excitement. They showed up at our hotel room door, all smiles and shaking hands while I was busy rubbing my teeth in case of stray lipstick. If I called out “Oh, Premier Model, could you bring me a microphone?” Which one of us would feel dumber?
I eyed one Model surreptitiously, noting her perfect makeup that she probably put on herself, and her slender body that sported “assets” that had the enviable combination of fullness and buoyancy that the young take so for granted. For almost twenty years I’ve drawn the female figure, so instinctually my eyes followed the contours of her back as they pulled into the curve of her waist before flowing out and down to form her hips.
Then I looked away, feeling a little creepy for checking her out, even as an artist. Nevermind that in a short minute I would be extensively checked out by around 80 people in the next room. I had signed up for that, whereas she was just working. If she wanted creepy 40 year-olds looking her over, she could work at Hooters.
We heard indistinct talking coming through the door as we waited for the cue to come out. The model with dark brown hair leaned her head near the door. I turned toward the blonde model and she smiled at me shyly. As I always seem to do lately, I complimented her to prevent myself from trying to be funny. When I’m nervous, my humor gets inappropriate.
Like what happened a week ago when I was visiting a friend who happens to be a pastor’s wife. Her husband, the pastor, had been working on expanding their backyard deck since I’d been there last. I had been chatting with my friend for a bit when the pastor walked out the sliding door to say hello. There are some people I like kidding around with and he’s one of them. But I was a little nervous for some reason and after saying hello, I gestured to the construction going on around me and said “I sure like a man with a big deck!”
Thank the Lord he left before I could say anything else as stupid. My friend was polite enough to ignore the fact that I’d said perhaps the worst faux pas of my life, making a lewd comment to the pastor husband of one of my good friends. So…yeah. When I’m nervous, I get stupid and inappropriate.
I like to think I've learned from that lesson. I just told her her hair was beautiful.