I went to a wedding in Palm Springs over the weekend. All of the trees and flowers in the desert were in full bloom and I got the mother of all allergy headaches on Saturday morning. I took all the drugs I could find and then hung out by the pool.
Mid afternoon, the Handsomest Man Alive (who was in the bridal party) had to get ready early for the official bridal photos. He started to lay his clothes out on the bed and discovered that he was missing his white shirt.
I was still wearing my bathing suit and cover-up when I went down to the parking garage with a valet to go over the car with a fine tooth comb to see if I could find the shirt. Backseat, trunk, under the seats...nope. The gift shop in the lobby only sold ties -- so Lenny, the nice valet who had by that time become my best friend -- drove me over to the nearby golf shop to see if I could get something there. I only had 45 minutes until my problem would become a photographic tragedy.
They had white shirts at the golf shoppe -- but it was a snazzy place and the cheapest one was $95. My other option was $128. and I didn't really even consider it an option. I told the snobby sales chick that those shirts were going to be 'my back-up plan' and I ran back out to the parking lot where Lenny was waiting for me in the golf cart.
Lenny floored it! -- top speed of 25 mph -- on our way over to another hotel. You can't believe how slow those golf carts are until you're trying to use one of them in an emergency. Hot tip: Never use a golf cart as a getaway car for a bank robbery -- you will get caught.
Anyway, Lenny pulled up front of a huge hotel and gave me instructions to run in and go to the left. It was as if he had been on this mission before. I found the men's shop and the white shirts to the left -- but nothing in the HMA's size. I begged the salesperson for help and she said she thought she had one in the back room. I saw her run into the backroom -- where she started tossing white shirts out of a brown box up into the air like she was celebrating New Year's Eve. She came running back triumphantly with the right size in hand. Forty bucks! Sold!
I ran out front and hopped in the back of the golf cart -- where Lenny shuttled me back to my original hotel at top speed -- not enough to even create a stir in the air. I honestly believe I could've made it back faster on foot, but at this point Lenny and I were a team.
Of course, I had no cash money on me -- and I apologized profusely to Lenny as I jumped out of the cart before it stopped rolling at our hotel and sprinted through the lobby. (Let me take this time to remind you that I was in my bathing suit and cover-up. So I'm sure it was quite a pretty picture.) I raced back to our room -- we were, of course, being housed in the back 40 acres of the resort. I made it back to the room with 10 minutes to spare before the official photo session began.
The HMA stopped by the valet stand on his way to the photos and slipped Lenny a big tip for his heroic performance. I guess Lenny was glad to see that the shirt had worked out. In my humble opinion, the HMA was also the best dressed man at the wedding. See photographic evidence above.