September  27, 2016 – One of those embarrassing moments in life.

          I was young at the time in my late 20s.  Married and living in New Jersey.  That was the era much like the TV Show “MAD MEN” where salesmen actually wined and dined their clients along with their wives.

          My husband was between jobs and the final step in the hiring process for a potential new job was meeting the owner of the company. 

          The owner telephoned my husband and said, “Let’s meet at that Steakhouse Restaurant and Lounge in . . . . . and, bring along your wife. We’ll make it a night out for the girls.”

          My husband called me at work and said, “Get home early, so that we can get to the restaurant on time for the “interview dinner”.

Realizing the importance of this dinner, I got out of work early, rushed home, did my hair extra special and was getting ready to dress.

          “Is this the right tie?” my husband asked.  I glanced at the gray wool suit laid out on the bed.  He looked fabulous in that suit as it was perfectly cut for him.

          I assured him, “Yes”.

          Back then well dressed women always had a matching handbag and shoes that color-coordinated with their outfit.  And, in New Jersey, the women I was acquainted with actually owned “evening jewelry” and were not the least bit hesitant wearing it.  I didn’t own any “evening jewelry,” but, I did have the perfect little black dress, sexy evening shoes and matching evening bag – Thank goodness!

          By the time I was ready for my husband to zip me into my little black dress; he’d pulled the knot loose of that tie and was picking out another.

          “Is that what you are going to wear?”  He asked me as he is zipping me and eyeing me in the mirror.

          “Yes, I have the perfect shoes and bag.”  He nodded and slipped his new tie selection around his starched shirt.  The dress was conservative, not slit up to there or cut down to there.  I was covered, but it was still a little bit sexy.

          “Do my cuff links,” he asked.  I dutifully did one cuff link and then the other.

          He looked in the mirror and suddenly pulled the knot from that tie and went to get yet another while I clasped on my string of pearls and pearl earrings.

          I checked the contents of my evening bag, lipstick, lace handkerchief, breath mints, little bit of money for tipping the powder room attendant – if there is one.

          The third tie was the maroon foulard and he was making the Windsor knot.  I opened the top drawer of his dresser and flipped through his pocket kerchiefs and found the matching one and tucked it softly into his breast pocket.  It peaked out ever so subtly.

          We left for the restaurant.  We were both silent.  He was nervous and I was more nervous. We both had a lot on our minds.

          It seemed I was actually going to be interviewed by the potential new boss AND his wife.  OH GOSH, what if they didn’t like me?  What if I wasn’t up to their standards of wit and charm?  This was new for me.  My husband had always gotten his jobs on his skills and ability . . . now they were vetting me as well?

          We arrived early and went to the lounge.  No seats in the lounge and ended up at the bar, and ordered drinks.  The appointed time came and went.  We were still nursing those drinks to make them stretch. 

          The owner and his wife were now half hour late.  I was pondering what common ground I might have with the wife of the new boss.  Oh, I hopes she likes me and I hope she doesn’t limit the conversation to just the weather and leave me dead in the water with nothing else to talk about.  I hope I can make the right impression on her. We need this job.  We can hardly pay the bills on my pay check alone.  I sent out a silent prayer.  Oh Lord – help us!

          A few moments later a handsome, well-dressed man approached my husband and introduced himself.  I smiled and suddenly my smile froze as I realized he was ALONE.  OH GOSH – I’ll be a third wheel – OR, maybe his wife was in the ladies room?

          I stood and shook hands and nodded.  He was too quick with his words.  What had he said – his wife was not feeling well?  She hadn’t come.  What is worse – not being liked by the new bosses’ wife or her not being here to keep me occupied with conversation.

          We went into the restaurant to be seated.  This restaurant had mostly tables for two or booths for four and we were a party of three.  The booths lined the outside walls and the tables for two ran down the middle in two neat isles.

          The maître d took us to a booth in the back corner between the waitress station and the door coming out of the kitchen.  The dining room was just about full.  It was a corner booth where three sat in the booth with a chair out for the fourth.  The maître d whisked away the chair and the owner slid into the booth and took the center seat leaving my husband on his right and me on his left.  My husband got the view of the opening and closing kitchen door and I got the view of the entire dining room.

          The owner had the “power seat” and he could talk to either of us comfortably.

          We ordered drinks and dinner and the owner brought me easily into the conversation and made me feel as there was no missing wife.  I paid particular attention to my table manners.  I felt things were going well.

          Dinner was finished and the owner asked for the dessert menu.  He admitted he had a sweet tooth.  I declined dessert.

          I said, “But, I’d like coffee and please excuse me,” thinking I better slip off to the ladies room at this time.

          As I got up and with the first step my hip knocked a used wine bucket that was hardly in the waitress station directly beside our booth and it went CRASH . . . with such a force the slosh of half melted ice washed out 6 to 8 feet, and the empty, dislodged wine bottle rolled up the isle where a gentlemen turned his shoe out and stopped its momentum with his toe.

          The dining room fell silent.

          Not really knowing what to do, I snapped the evening purse under my arm, tossed my hair back from my face and strode out of the room with my head held high eyes fixed on the door.

          As soon as I turned the corner, I full body slammed into the maître d.  I choked out, “Where is the ladies room?”  Untangling us he pointed.

          I slipped into the ladies room.  Two occupied stalls and a gold gilt mirror over a large ornate sink with fingertip towels piled in a basket to one side.

          I stared into the mirror at my beet red face.  I thought, OH GOSH, I have done it now!  I’ve lost him this job.  OH, we will starve to death on just my paycheck!

          I washed my hands in cold water.  I didn’t see that used wine bucket, what a stupid place to put it – so close to our booth . . . OH my husband must be dying out there.  I have got to calm down.  I patted my face with cold water.   . . . I need to stay here a while until they clean up the mess.  How long will that take?  The owner must think I am a clumsy idiot – no a clumsy ox! . . . Let’s breathe and count to 100 – control yourself. 1 . . . 2 . . .   . . .23 . . .no you can’t cry. . . 50 . . .

          One of the stalls became vacant and I took care of business and came out and washed my hands for a very long time.

          I lingered further still.  Both stalls had emptied and refilled again.  I put on my lipstick and touched my hair and tucked the evening bag under my arm.  Three women had now come and gone from the bathroom. 

I thought, “I hope the mess has been cleaned up.”  I timidly left the bathroom and made a turn into the dining room pressing  a soft smile on my face.  There was the usual hum of conversation; no one even looked up at me as I strode to my seat in the dining room. 

          On the way I noticed the wet mark on the carpet, but all other traces of the catastrophe had been erased.  I slipped elegantly into my seat.

          My husband had his elbow on the table and had his hand up to his mouth – stroking his mustache.  With great humor he exclaimed:  “Oh the ASS on my LASS” with a chuckle and smiled at me.  The owner reached over and patted my hand and said, “My wife did the same thing one night.”  He added, “You did just fine . . . just fine” and he smiled.

         

NOTE:   I entered a speech class contest and won first place [$100] with the above tale of woe back in 1990. I entitled the speech "What would Emily Post have done?" I remember one of the judges was the editor of The Shelby Star at the time and I saw him laughing as I was giving my speech.  I did this years before I went to Toastmasters. As a Plant Manager's wife at cocktail parties, I recounted this many times to "liven up the party".  

P.S.  I remember the speech teacher at the time was Diane Tucker.  She will get a kick out of this.