I remembered one of the funny stories from last night. I knew I would. I'll probably remember more as the day goes on. That's the fun thing about funny stories—you just remember them randomly throughout the day and break into a smile even if there's nothing to smile about otherwise. Not that there wasn't anything to smile about this morning—my girls are the sweetest cuddle bugs in the morning and apparently if I'm not there to put them to bed they are even more cuddly.
Anyway, we'd just arrived in Salt Lake and were in a parking garage, fiddling with Sarah's dress. She hadn't worn a slip so her dress kept sticking to her nylons—that blasted static cling.
We had just passed a little wall when a woman ran out from behind it and said, "Pssssst! Hey, you!"
We all stopped, turned around to look at the lady, and then exchanged glances as if to ask each other if anybody knew her. Nobody did.
"I have something for you," she said.
In her car. Around the corner. Behind the wall. That sounded like a trustworthy proposition. Not.
We all just kept staring at her. She looked wholesome enough—she was wearing jeans and a pink sweater and a big, helpful smile.
"For your dress," she explained. "I have a dryer sheet in my car. You can rub it on your nylons and then your dress won't ride up. Sorry—I couldn't help but notice everyone trying to fix your dress and I just happen to have one so you're welcome to it..."
We followed her to her car and she dug out her temple bag and pulled out a sheet of fabric softener in a ziplock bag and handed it to Sarah.
We all—including our Good Samaritan—had a good laugh about our awkward exchange.
Anyway, we'd just arrived in Salt Lake and were in a parking garage, fiddling with Sarah's dress. She hadn't worn a slip so her dress kept sticking to her nylons—that blasted static cling.
We had just passed a little wall when a woman ran out from behind it and said, "Pssssst! Hey, you!"
We all stopped, turned around to look at the lady, and then exchanged glances as if to ask each other if anybody knew her. Nobody did.
"I have something for you," she said.
In her car. Around the corner. Behind the wall. That sounded like a trustworthy proposition. Not.
We all just kept staring at her. She looked wholesome enough—she was wearing jeans and a pink sweater and a big, helpful smile.
"For your dress," she explained. "I have a dryer sheet in my car. You can rub it on your nylons and then your dress won't ride up. Sorry—I couldn't help but notice everyone trying to fix your dress and I just happen to have one so you're welcome to it..."
We followed her to her car and she dug out her temple bag and pulled out a sheet of fabric softener in a ziplock bag and handed it to Sarah.
We all—including our Good Samaritan—had a good laugh about our awkward exchange.
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