In the past year, I have gotten into the habit of taking my clothes off in strange places. Before I go on, please calm down – this is not like my unnamed friend who is rumored to have (some years ago) left his unmentionables at the homes of a few ladies over the course of a summer. This is all very
innocent. Okay, now we can continue.
It all started on a summer night when I decided just one evening activity was not quite enough for me. First, I ran everybody’s least favorite road race, the corporate challenge (it is always too crowded, too hot and full of people who don’t really run but want to pretend they do for just one night. I know, that was mean. Rant is over). Second, I met Todd at The Spotted Pig for dinner. I am no stranger to wearing running clothes to Sunday brunch at a restaurant filled with people wearing the latest and greatest from the pages of Vogue, but this particular night was the first time I wore this get-up to dinner and I thought maybe it was poor form to be wearing sweaty running clothes and an unflattering sports bra while surrounded by the beautiful people of the West Village. So I hopped into the less than roomy bathroom and did a little shirt and bra change (and I may have also freshened up some of my make up). I wasn’t looking great, but at least I was smelling slightly better.
This adventure led to a few more quick changes on those nights (or even days) when I wanted to go right from a run to a social event or if I just wanted to take care of a few errands after a run and wanted to spare the general public from my post-exercise scent.
After a few successful Superman-like quick changes, I took this habit to a new low and some might say I have crossed a line. I have moved my quick changes from the ladies room to the back seats of cars. The first time I did this was when I got off a plane and had an invitation to go right from the airport to dinner. The cab driver didn’t seem to notice (care?) when I artfully switched out my shirt without showing much (if any) skin. This event gave me a little confidence so when a drive from New York to DC took a few minutes longer than expected and we were looking at being late for lunch, I told Paul to keep his eyes on the road and I changed from a t-shirt and jeans into a dress. Impressive, I know. I trust that Paul saw nothing but I can’t say the same for the other drivers on the highway. Good for them, some of them looked like they could us a little excitement on a Friday morning. My latest escapade took place on the West Coast after a particularly challenging half marathon. Lissa, Steve and I made the game-time decision to go right from the finish line to our brunch reservation. Running 13.1 miles doesn’t usually make me instantly hungry, but it does make me insanely thirsty and a good Bloody Mary is typically the only choice. So off to the restaurant we went and I gave my friend of less than two years the same directions I gave my friend of ten years, “Keep your eyes on the road.”
I may not have acted with what is referred to as good judgment, I may not have looked great and I may not have displayed the kind of class few know me to possess, but at least I smelled slightly better and did my part to show people how you really can do it all. Except shower.