Call me Marilyn.

The other day I was delivering an armload of tourism over-the-shoulder-baggy-thingers to the Ogden Convention visitor's bureau. And I, may I say, was looking pretty cute; sporting my pleated sea green skirt, white shirt, and euro-trash sunglasses straight from the IT, I was working it friends.

Unfortunately for me and my wardrobe it was a windy day. And my hands were full. And I was wearing a skirt. And so you can see where this is going....

I hopped gleefully out of my car. Scooped up the bags. Trotting along, I dropped one bag. Precariously hunching to reach the abandoned bribe-tool, I felt my skirt swish against my calf as I bent to the parking lot floor. Ok, fine.

So I retrieved the missing link, and then continued on my merry way, dodging potholes in the Union Station parking lot all the while. I passed several cars facing the entrance, and oddly, there where people sitting there... fine again. People can sit in their cars all they want on a windy day, that's fine.

I hop up on the kirb and just as I am about to reach for the door I feel something brush the back of my head. A bird? No. A plane? No! A leaf? I wish. My skirt? Yes. Sadly, and yet hilariously, the back of my skirt had been coaxed up to reach my head by the devilish little gust of wind. And that's why they call me Marylin now. Or at least I imagine those people in the car saw the resemblence. Interesting.

But of course, you know me. Rather than freak out, or sacrifice my mission to pull down my skirt, I just laughed and continued on. I blew in the door and the woman at the desk chuckled a bit at my doscombobulated state. I slipped up stairs, and dropped the package. As I was leaving I turned to wave to the director of sales, and to my slight dismay (though what can I do about it now?) I realized that he most likely had a front row seat to the cheeks-to-the-win display I starred in just moments previous.

Ahh. I love a good humiliating moment!