Would You Like Spaghetti With That?

Would You Like Spaghetti With That?
A true-life embarrassing moment

         I had searched everywhere to find something nice to wear to my baby brother's high school graduation, but nothing was to my liking.  When my baby sister graduated, I wore purple, her favorite color. 

         David wanted me to wear aqua, his favorite.  "It looks so good with your red hair, and it makes your eyes so blue," he said, strengthening his case.

         "OK, Davy Wavy, I'll find something aqua."  I gave him a quick hug before heading home.  "Thanks for not choosing white.  Every time I wear white I spill something on myself."

         "Shh," Mom whispered over my shoulder.  "You're asking for trouble when you say things like that."

         A week before the ceremony I gave up my search and visited the fabric store.  There I found some beautiful aqua fabric and a pattern for a sailor-style dress with a big square collar.  With all of the needed supplies, I went home and spent the rest of the week sewing and fitting my new dress.

         "Look at you," my brother beamed.  "No one would ever know you had three babies," he added, knowing how self-conscious I was about the weight I had gained during my last problem-filled pregnancy. 

         The baby was just over a year old, but regaining my strength, recovering from seven months of bed rest, and coping with the deep depression that followed our brother's death made weight-loss a struggle.  Tears filled my eyes as I thanked him for the compliment, but I knew I still had a long way to go.

         "I told you you were beautiful," my husband Tim whispered as we took our seats and waited for the ceremony to begin. 

         I smiled at him as I rocked the baby but couldn't stop thinking about my brother and how much he had missed since his death a little over a year before.

         The graduation ceremony was lovely and we were all so proud.  We had reservations at a local restaurant for our family celebration afterward.  I had never been to the restaurant so I asked my parents and sisters what they would recommend. 

         "I love their spaghetti and meatballs," Suzanne said.

         "Mmmm," I said, but I knew I wouldn't order that.  I didn't want to ruin my dress the first time I wore it.

         Sharon suggested, "How about the chicken with marinara sauce.  It goes so well with a nice salad and seasonal vegetables."

         Another 'no', I thought.

         I decided on Chicken Florentine, a dish with a light white sauce.  "Would you like spaghetti with that?" the waitress asked.

         "It comes with spaghetti?" I worried.

         "You can choose any one of the sides listed," she explained, pointing out the list.

         "I missed that part, sorry.  Please have them make mine with the steamed vegetables," I concluded, closing the menu.  She smiled and went on around the table.  I smiled, too, thinking, Whew!  Nothing with red sauce to spill on my dress.

         The Chicken Florentine was delicious and I made it through dinner with no stains on my new dress, not even messy baby handprints.

         After ordering desert, Dad stood and made a tearful speech:  "Now I can proudly say that every one of my seven children has accomplished something I was never able to do:  graduate from high school."

         I smiled across the table at my brother as a waitress with a full tray walked behind me.  My brother's face registered a look of surprise and then horror as a plate loaded with saucy spaghetti and meatballs tipped from the edge of the tray, slid down the side of my head, and splattered across my shoulder, running down both the front and back of my brand new dress!

         I let out a yelp as the hot spaghetti sauce burned my skin through the lightweight fabric of my dress.  The waitress rushed to put down the tray and other servers, as well as the manager hustled me to the restroom to quickly remove the sauce and stop the burn.  I stood in the restroom in my slip, sobbing and embarrassed as strangers and family members groped, patted, and cajoled. 

         The burn would heal soon enough, but the dress couldn't be saved.  The heat of the sauce had melted the synthetic fabric, searing it to my skin and fusing it to the nylon camisole I wore beneath. 

         I sat on a bench in the restroom, wrapped in a blanket with one of my sisters holding each hand while Tim drove a mile up the road to Wal-Mart to get me something clean and dry for the ride home.  He returned with a pair of jeans and a blouse, which he sent into the restroom with my mother.

         Tim asked the waitress to box our desserts to go.  Even though the restaurant paid for everyone's dinner that night, sent gift certificates for additional free meals, and paid for the ruined clothing and medical treatment for the burn, I would've rather had the dress.

         "We didn't even get a photograph," I wept as I hugged my brother in the parking lot. 

         "That's okay," he insisted.  "I'll always remember how lovely you looked... and the look on your face as the spaghetti hit you.  Look, Suzanne got that part on tape!"

         He rolled the tape and I punched him in the arm as hard as I could and stomped away.  At least he had a nice time.

         I went home and cried over the dress.  A few weeks later my daughter had a new aqua dress made of the salvaged skirt of my ruined outfit.  Every time she wore it she beamed.  "I look like Mommy," she'd say.  "But I don't want sketties for dinner."

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ID: 284049   (Rated: ASR) Boy, Was My Face Red  True-life embarrassing moments, large and small...most of them my own by justme