Last night DH and I went to a party at his boss's house. His boss is a former baseball star-turned game company founder, and it's obvious where all that baseball money went. He has a ginormous house (complete with enclosed indoor hot tub, private screening room, and 11-car garage), and as you might expect, the party was all-out. Open bar, catered meal, DJ, a party bus to shuttle people to and from their cars, and a bottle of wine for everyone to take home.
It would have been a great night, did I not trip on the front stairs and go sprawling over his front hallway, spilling two vodka tonics everywhere. I didn't even have the handy excuse of being drunk. No, I was just clumsy and bit it, and lots of people saw. I was so ashamed I spent the rest of the night playing bar trivia. (Yes, he had a bar trivia machine at his bar.)
Now my foot hurts, and I can't decide if it's because I hurt it in the fall somehow or if all my shame is just manifesting itself there.
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