Turns out that the natural disaster occurred in the form of my naturally doofusy brain pinning down my normal thought process brain in the easiest wrestling match ever, as my normal brain is very puny and weak--it doesn't get as much exercise and exposure as does the doofus version. When cornered by the PTSA president last week and asked to "help" at the Dine with the Dawgs at Pizza Inn, my brain couldn't come up with a plausible excuse fast enough. The president lives on my road and she'd surely know if "I'm having my tires rotated" (don't laugh--I have used that one on more than one occasion), "I'm out of town" or "the water main burst and the house is flooded" weren't true. I had nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. The gig was up. I was under the interrogation lights and I folded.
I held out hope that they would assign me to the drink station or even busing tables. After all, over 10 people were slated to be working at that time and surely someone else would love to wait tables, right? RIGHT? I showed up all eager and ready to fix drinks. As soon as I signed the waiver, releasing Pizza Inn from indemnification in the event I sever an arm with the pizza cutter, someone came up from behind me and tied THE APRON around my waist. They had tied the proverbial bell around the cat's neck. I was stuck.
|Get a good look now. Me in an apron is like seeing Hailey's Comet--few and far between|