Author: katiestardis

Buttonhole: Noun: To detain in conversation by or as by holding on to the outer garments of

Buttonhole

There are two types of people who shop at malls. Those who want to take their time and look at everything, and those who are on a mission. Today, I’m on a mission.

On the way to a wedding, we stopped for gas. I opened the back door to make sure my daughter was doing okay, but didn’t realize she had balanced her cup between her booster and the door. When it crashed to the ground, the lid popped off and drenched my dress in chocolate milk. Obviously, I can’t wear it now. Our house is forty-five minutes away, so I can’t go home first. The mall is the only option.

“In and out,” my husband says.

“Then you should both wait here,” I respond.

“I want to go in the mall!” my daughter whinges from the backseat.

Unbuckling, I speak to her a little more harshly than necessary. But gosh darn it! I’m irritated.

“We wouldn’t even need to make the stop if you had used your cupholder like you’re supposed to.”

Now standing outside in the doorway, I look back and see her bottom lip trembling. We really don’t have time for a meltdown.

“If you’re good with Daddy while I’m in, we will think of something special to do for you after the wedding. Okay?”

Barely catching her enthusiastic nod, I slam the door and begin running as fast as I can in high heels. Just before I get to the door, my heel catches on a crack and I hit the ground onto my knees hard.

Ouch.

Great. Now my dress is not only dirty, but ruined. The pretty chiffon now sports several tears where it smashed into the ground. Pulling myself up onto shaky legs, I brush my front with my hands and limp the rest of the way in.

The gal at the kiosk nearest to the door clearly saw me biff it and looks at me with concerned eyes. I have a rule about kiosks, since I don’t really like talking to people I don’t know or being manipulated in general.

Don’t make eye contact. If you don’t make eye contact, you can pretend you didn’t hear and just keep walking. No social faux pas committed.

Unfortunately, I’m so frazzled by one thing after another going wrong, I break the rule and meet her gaze. Hoping to salvage the shattering of Mall Rule Number One, I give her an embarrassed smile and try to walk past her. The store I’m going for is just beyond her booth.

No such luck. Of course.

“Oh my! I saw you take a tumble out there. Are you alright?” she asks with a terribly false British accent. I’m a Whovian. I know a fake accent when I hear it.

“Uh. Yeah. I’ll be fine. I just need to get a new dress.” I point at the store as I keep moving, but she nonchalantly steps in front of me.

Really?

“You should let me help you out. This skincare line has a great scar prevention cream.”

“I doubt I’ll scar. I’ve had worse falls before.”

Bending over, she examines my knees. Now people are starting to stare.

“You’re bleeding.”

Thanks, Captain Obvious.

“Yes. I have a first aid kit in my car. I’ll take care of it after I buy my dress. I’m on my way to a wedding.”

Hint. Hint.

“Besides that,” she seems to ignore what I’m saying, “Your knees look a little dry. Would you like to try our special lotion for dry skin?”

“No thanks. That will just smear the blood. Maybe I can come back in after I clean up.”

I have no intention of coming back in. She knows it. Pursing my lips, I walk around the kneeling woman to the store, pretending like I can’t hear her continue speaking to me. I don’t have time for her to buttonhole me here.

Once in the store, I beeline straight to the clearance rack. In a stroke of luck, which has evaded me up until now, I find a nice dress I’ll probably wear more than once for a decent price. With a sigh of relief, I pay for it. The lady behind the counter notices my knees and offers their first aid kit and restroom to clean up and change. I take her up on it.

Feeling refreshed, I wave at the nice sales associate and walk toward my exit. This time, I follow my rule.

“Oh! You got cleaned up. Come here so I can give you a free…”

I don’t hear the rest of what she’s saying because I’m out the door on the way to my car. Was that rude? Maybe. But I have a wedding to get to and a daughter to hopefully reward for good behavior.

Buttress: Noun: 1: a projecting structure (as of masonry) that supports or stabilizes a wall or building 2: something that supports, props, or strengthens

Buttress

Taking a sip from my champagne flute, I scan the dance floor with an admiral attempt at not being bitter. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for the bride and groom. They’re my friends, after all.

But have you ever heard the saying, “Always a bridesmaid, but never a bride?” That’s me. This is the sixth wedding I’ve been in over the last two years. Three friends, two cousins, and today, it’s my brother.

Alan and his blushing bride, Ann, are dancing slowly to some sappy Ed Sheeran song. She’s beautiful. My dress, not so much. IF I ever get to have my own wedding day, I’m not going to torture my bridesmaids with hideous dresses.

Of course, they’re not the only ones dancing in the slow dance circles we all learned in high school. By now, we’re well into the reception. Toasts have been made, cake has been cut, flowers and garters have been thrown, the elderly people have gone home.

I need to go for a walk.

Pushing away from the wall, I sway a bit and realize I’m tipsy. I glare at the half empty glass of champagne as if it’s all its fault that I’m on my third glass. After setting my glass down on a random table, and swaying a bit, I manage to get myself outside.

The gardens are beautiful and I really want to walk through them, but I don’t make it past the buttress of the cathedral Ann insisted on renting, despite the ridiculous cost. Since it’s slanted, I lay back on it and gaze at the night sky.

“It was getting stuffy in there, huh?”

I start at the voice next to me and look over. Am I seriously so out of it that I didn’t see someone else already occupying this space?

“S’rry. I dint see you ther,” I slur. I’m slurring. I turn my head to see who I’m talking to. Naturally, he’s gorgeous.

He chuckles. “Had a little too much?”

“Not on purpose.” I look back to the star-speckled sky.

“You’re Alan’s sister, right?”

“Yup.”

“Shouldn’t you be inside, you know, celebrating or something?”

I shrug. I feel like I’ve met the obligated amount of celebration for the day.

“Not big on parties?”

Does this guy ever shut up? Looking at him, I decide to voice my thoughts. It’s probably the alcohol. Don’t drink and party. You never know what you’ll say or do. Lesson learned. Never more than one glass ever again. Never.

“You talk a lot,” I say.

He chuckles again. “Aren’t you the blunt little thing?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I just say what everyone else is thinking, but is too afraid to say.”

“I’m Colin. A friend of Alan’s from college.”

“Dax.” Rolling my eyes, I return my gaze to space.

“Dax?”

“My parents were big Deep Space Nine fans. Apparently, they got over it before Alan was born and he got a normal name.”

“Go to dinner with me.”

Really? This guy.

“Already ate. And it’s really late.”

“Tomorrow.”

“I have plans.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m going to wash my hair.”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “I thought you were blunt.”

Meeting his eyes, I say, “No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t date Alan’s friends. He told me a long time ago to never do it. So I honor his request.”

“Hmm. That’s weird. Because he told me I should ask you out.”

I gape at him. “He did what?” I stand up too quickly to go chew out my brother at his wedding reception and fall. Knowing I can’t catch myself in time, I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the inevitable pain. Instead, I feel an arm wrap around my waist and pull me back up to standing. I glare at my savior.

“Don’t be mad. He just thinks we would be good together. He knows both of us. Why not give it a shot? Just one date. If you don’t like me, we never have to see each other again.”

I examine his face. A strong chin and suave black curls frame his face. His eyes are the color of a clear ocean on a sunny day. He does have a point. And do I really want to continue with always being in weddings that aren’t my own? Not that I’m going to marry this guy. I just met him. Still, it could happen.

“Alright. For now, I’m just going to lay here until I’m not tipsy anymore, then I’m going home.”

He grins. “I’ll stay with you, then. No need to stay alone.”

After lowering me back to the safety of the buttress, he lays down next to me take hesitantly takes my hand. I give it a little squeeze. Who knows? Maybe this is the beginning of something great?

Pervade: Verb: To become diffused throughout every part of

Pervade

Before stepping inside, I brush a hand over the skirt of my TARDIS dress, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles. Relative to the amazing costumes I’ve seen over the years, it’s nothing fancy. Clearly, some people spend days, maybe even months, on their costumes for Emerald City Comicon. I don’t have the patience or skill to do such a thing, although I definitely would if I could.

My husband squeezes my hand in his, and I look up at him. Bless him. He’s dressed normally, just as he is every year, but isn’t embarrassed by my crazy attire. Noting the gentleman fully decked out in a fawn costume, I suppose he figures it could be worse. I smirk at him. My daughter tugs on my other hand, bouncing.

“Are you ready? I know it’s not SDCC, like you’ve always wanted, but this’ll be fun,” he says to me.

“It’ll be perfect.” I stand up on my tip-toes and kiss him on the cheek. “Now let’s go in and mingle with my people.”

He rolls his eyes at that.

Walking in, I’m overwhelmed at the number of people herding their way toward the escalators like cattle. So many conversations are going on in the room, that it creates the illusion of a roaring crowd. Excitement pervades the air and I breathe it in.

We ride several escalators before reaching the top level, where all the excitement is. Random bags of swag are shoved into our hands by minions and we step aside to flip through the schedule.

“What time is the autograph again?” he asks and I sigh in exasperation. The main reason we’re even here and he can’t remember one time.

“2:00.”

“Oh. That’s a ways away. We have plenty of time.”

“We’ll want to get in line early.”

“No!” my daughter opposes loudly.

“Look, do you want to meet the Doctor?” I say.

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll have to wait in line.”

“We can wander the Exhibit Hall until we have to go, though,” my husband cuts in.

As we stroll down the aisles of tables and booths, I barely pay attention. We’re going to have to walk through again later. None of that matters. I get to meet the Doctor today. It’s a couple minutes before I realize we’ve been stopped at the Tokidoki booth for minutes. My daughter has merchandise and is ready to check out. They give her a little hat and we take pictures of her wearing it.

“Do you want to find the Espionage Cosmetics booth?” He asks, trying to distract me from my nerves.

“No. I want to be able to take my time and enjoy it. Can we just head over?”

He looks at his watch. “It’s only 12:30.”

“12:30?! We have to go. Now!”

I yank them by their hands and they laugh at me. That’s okay. Let them laugh. We leave the building to go to the place we need to be. To avoid the soul crushing crowd around the main elevators, we sneak our way to the ones on the far end that hardly anyone ever uses.

Once we get on, we wait for our floor, only to realize that in all the hullaballoo, we forgot to hit the floor button and we zoom past it. Blushing I reach over and push the proper button, but we continue up to another floor.

When it opens, I suppress a fangirl squee. My daughter does not. The Doctor himself, smiles his toothy smile and steps in with a polite nod.

“You’re the Doctor,” she says.

“Yes, indeed,” he responds.

“Mommy and I have been watching all your episodes this week.”

He laughs. “Brilliant.”

She tugs on my hand. “Mommy. We don’t have to wait in line now! He can just sign while we’re on the elevator.”

My eyes widen in humiliation. “Oh. Honey. We’ll wait in line with everyone else.”

She pouts and the Doctor laughs again. “Here, come with me,” he says when we reach our floor. He takes us through a back entrance into the autograph room, then sends a minion to get a photo. Upon their return, the signs the photo to our names along with “Allons-y” in the corner of the page.

Bending down to her level, he hands the photo to my daughter.

“There. Now you don’t have to wait.”

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to do that,” I say.

“I know. I wanted to. You have a good day.”

With that, he parts the curtains separating us from the line and the room erupts in applause. Leaving the way we came in, my daughter looks up at me with wide eyes.

“Best. Con. Ever.”

Note: Total fiction. I did get to meet and obtain an autograph from David Tennant at ECCC this year, but it was no where near this personal. However, the autograph is real!

 

Life has been crazy, y’all. I know this is super late, but here it is.

Obstinate: Adjective: 1: Perversely adhering to an opinion, purpose, or course 2: Not easily overcome or removed

Obstinate

The dried leaves crackle and twigs snap beneath my Converse Chuck Taylors as I desperately try to keep up. Blisters and swollen ankles are in my near future. I should have listened when Betty told me I needed to wear different shoes, but she’s normally so clueless about everything. How was I supposed to know that hiking was something she does regularly? Besides, she made the suggestion with a cruel little smirk, so I thought she was just messing with me.

Better yet, I never should have come.

What did I do to deserve her being assigned as my roommate for my first year of college?

Her strawberry blonde ponytail swings from side-to-side as she follows her date closely. My own date is being courteous enough to walk with me, but I can tell he really doesn’t want to be walking as slow as we are.

“Maybe we should stop for a few minutes. Get some water into you,” Stone says.

“No…” Huff. “That’s okay…” Huff. “Don’t want to…” Huff. “Slow everyone down.”

What was I thinking when I agreed to this hike? I’m nowhere near in shape enough to do this.

“We’re going to stop for a few minutes!” Stone shouts ahead. “We’ll catch up!”

“Okay. See you at the top!” Betty shouts back in her southern drawl. She gives me an I-told-you-so look before turning away and pursuing her date onward.

“Here. Sit here.” Stone takes my clammy hand in his and tries to bring me over to a boulder.

“No. Really, I’m okay. Let’s keep going,” I respond. My breaths are coming easier now that we’ve stopped for a moment, but then I’m suddenly overcome with lightheadedness and sway.

Catching me before I fall, Stone says, “There’s no need to be obstinate about it. No shame in taking a little break.”

He helps me sit down, pulls my water bottle from my backpack, and hands it to me as he joins me. Telling myself I will only take a sip, I tip my head back to drink a little. The refreshing coolness sliding down my throat throws that out the window, bringing me to greedily chug at it.

“Take your time,” he laughs. “You don’t want to get sick.”

Embarrassed, I stop and close the lid. “Look. I’m really sorry about this. I’m sure being stuck with a slow-poke isn’t exactly what you imagined when you agreed to this blind-date. Hiking isn’t my normal thing and I should have known better than to agree to it.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s alright. Besides, sometimes I get so caught up in getting to the top, I forget to enjoy the journey up there. Your pace has helped me remember to take in the scenery instead of rush to the end.”

Is there a double-meaning there?

“Well, I wish I could enjoy the journey with you.” I glance up the trail. “How much further do we have?”

“Oh. It’s right around the bend up there.”

“What? Why did we stop, then? I could have made it a little farther before stopping.”

“I wanted to have a chance to get to know you better and figured this was the best way to separate from them. I don’t want to reach the end of this journey quite yet.” He winks at me.

Yup. Definitely a double-meaning.

“Well, I don’t mind sharing the scenery with you for a little while longer.”

Maybe it wasn’t so bad that I came after all.