Please take a moment and picture this:
- Day one of Fashion Week set-up
- King Street West - home of hipsters and people who ride bicycles as a fashion statement
- All the fashionistas draped in Balenciaga, Prada, and Dior. I am draped in set-up clothes which included old jeans. Apparently too old.
I am stepping out of the cube truck, probably with a chandelier in hand, when I hear a gut-wrenching tear. Yes, that's right, I ripped my jeans. But not just any sort of rip - the entire seat of my pants was gone. And let's just say I wasn't wearing the most full coverage of undergarments.
I instantly jerk upright, drop the chandelier and shield myself from the street and the windows of the onlooking fashionistas. I call my boss, mostly to make him laugh and tell him my predicament. He tells me he can already see me. He probably also heard the rip from inside. I am mortified and really unsure about what to do.
I've been told by a very reliable teacher source that this happens to everyone at least once in their life. Guaranteed. Have you had yours yet? I think I'm set.
What followed, was a flurry of phone calls that resulted in my dearest friend Tracy leaving me some replacement pants on the side of the road because I didn't even have time to go home. Making the call to get this favour was an interesting evaluation of my friends and who I knew wouldn't hesitate and others who I knew would make sure I knew it was a major inconvenience if they even agreed. It was really eye-opening - who I turned to in a mini crisis. But, I made the right call, because Tracy was a lifesaver!
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