I've made an ass of myself.
Again.
I walked into a the party of someone that was not the Mr. Fix-It, cute-haired, glasses-wearing, trumpet player that I thought it was. And not even the kind where you open the door, don't recognize the furniture, and subtly walk out. The kind where you walk in, talk to some people, scope out the food array, grab a Diet Coke and talk to the mom before you realize.
Tomorrow, I walk and will try and take part in not-falling and enjoying the forced lifetime moment celebration. And Sister will come. Ripe and armed with butter knives to stab anyone who crosses her 9-month preggo path.
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