“You did fine,” Cooper said.
“But I didn’tsayanything,” I argued. “He’s going to think I have no personality.”
“Guess what?” Cooper said, in an effort to be kind. “In that dress, you don’tneeda personality.”
THANKS TO COOPERand me, we came in last place.Verylast place. So very last place that when Finn saw our score, he threw his club down like a golfy John McEnroe having a tantrum.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The worst of it happened after the game. After everyone had returned their putters to the rental desk, and after Brody had removed his one weird golf glove and tucked it into his pocket, and after Finn and Brody had tried to get Cooper and me retroactively kicked off their team—as we were all walking over toward the buffet.
The irony is that I was actually getting the hang of the whole walking-in-heels thing. When I’d first started practicing, I’d mostly hobbled around on tiptoe like a kangaroo. But now, almost like a lovely little apology from the universe, as I crossed the sports deck, I could tell I had the motion down. The wind blew my hair. The sun shined affectionately.Heel-toe. Heel-toe.
I’ve got this, I thought. Could somebody hit “slo-mo”?
That short walk across the sports deck did a beautiful job of raising my spirits, in fact. I might be destined for the mini-golf Hall of Shame, but at least, as of this moment, I could officially walk in heels.
A much more valuable skill.
I decided to enjoy it. I was even considering throwing in a hip bump or two.
And then?
I hit a slick patch.
I wentheel-toe, heel-toe, heel—splat.
My legs flew out ahead of me—just exactly like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel—and I landed smack on my tailbone.
Which is even more painful than it is humiliating.
And it’spretty frigging humiliating.
I must have made a loud noise—because every single wedding guest turned to look, and for a moment, I was suspended in time in the birthing position with my unicorn underpants on full display, Sharon Stone style.
A moment that lasted a thousand years.
Next, Cooper arrived behind me and hoisted me to my feet—but as soon as I tried to turn around, he yanked me back and clamped my backside to his front.
I tried to turn again—but he clamped me tighter.
“What’s going on, Cooper?”
“You are having,” Cooper said then, “a wardrobe malfunction.”
I squeezed my eyes closed. “Is it the dress?”
“Yes.”
“Did it split?”
“Yes.”
“Can everybody see my…”
“Unicorns. Yes.”
At that, I sighed in a way that felt more like a cave-in.
