Yesterday at work, we had a meeting with a bunch of people who could potentially give us a bunch of money, so I was asked to be a part of the dog and pony show and participate in a presentation to convince this bunch of people why we were not only deserving of their bunch of money but also that if the other bunches of people they were connected with wanted to give out other bunches of money, we'd be a great candidate for that too, so couldyaputinagoodwordmaybe? (Fortunately, this was not an organization dedicated to ending the use of the run-on sentence in America, or I'd have had no nickel in that dime.)

It all went fine.  I showed my video clips and presented information packets to help them make their decision. We had a lengthy discussion about why we are deserving of their bunches of money rather than someone else who would like bunches of money.  I participated in the conversation and added salient points where appropriate.  I resisted every urge I had to make any reference, verbal or otherwise, to My Ass and was successful.  I did not pick my nose, nor did I reach under my shirt to scratch my armpits at any time.  I know ya'll! It was downright impressive. There were even a few tears based my moving, eloquent and passionate pitch. One man hugged me.

When we were finished, we all stood to leave and walked them to the door in a professional, dignified manner with the kinds of craploads of poise and culture that would make even Emily Post proud. 

It was getting close to the end of my day so I had picked up my mobile phone in order to not lose track of time and miss getting home for the kids' bus. (I have not worn a watch since 1989 so my phone is my only way of marking time.)  While we were doing that stand in the doorway and say those few last things thing, I slipped my phone into the small pocket at the waist of my slacks so I could shake hands with everyone as they left with the best impression possible. 

Only what I didn't realize was that I missed the pocket and what I thought was the pocket, which is in the front, just below my waistband, ended up being just actually the waistband of my actual pants.  So instead of putting my phone into my pocket, I'd really just stuck my phone in my pants and then it slipped down through my pants and down my leg and because God hates me, everyone happened to look down right as it dropped out of my pant leg and hit the floor.

So then I did the only rational, reasonable thing I could do.  I put out my hands to my sides, palms to the ceiling, one foot out on its heel in a jazz pose and said, "Ta Da!"

And that's why I need everyone who reads this to send me $10,000.