If you’re wondering what that high-pitched squealing noise is, don’t worry – it’s just me, letting loose in a paroxysm of joy because my husband bought me the best birthday present in the history of birthday presents.
That’s right – Mr. Seeking Ambition is letting me unfurl my freak flag at the Star Trek convention in Boston next June. As this next birthday is a bit of a milestone (thirty, cough cough), we’re going all out. All-access fancy pants tickets, Star Trek:TNG 25th reunion panel event, etc… and best of all: I will finally get to meet SIR PATRICK STEWART!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111
Wow. I think I just blacked out for a minute there.
Anyhow, while thinking about my upcoming photo op with Jean-Luc Picard, my mind drifted back to a wardrobe malfunction I experienced during the first (and only) convention I’ve attended to date. To paraphrase Sophia Petrillo: “Picture it – Cambridge, Massachusetts… July 2011.” It was a blisteringly, disgustingly hot day. I decided to wear a skimpy, floaty little Grecian-style sundress in an attempt to somehow remind my husband of a reason why he married me (trust me – he wasn’t dazzled by the whole Trek Thing, or my vast collection of trashy historical romance novels… which is a story for another time).
So, I was looking pretty darn cute, if I may say so myself, and accessorized with an ear-to-ear grin the moment we stepped inside the convention. My husband held my hand and escorted me patiently from panel to panel. Once we hit the merch area, though, he needed some space. Luckily for him, they had all sorts of non-Trek nerd goodies for him to examine.
Where did I end up? I was rummaging through bins of Star Trek Hallmark christmas ornaments like a woman possessed, displaying roughly the same level of decorum usually reserved for when I am alone with a bag of Chex Mix.
After a few minutes and several glorious finds later (Lt. Worf wielding a bat’leth, I’m looking at you), I felt a slight hand on my arm. I looked over to see a teenage girl in a Starfleet uniform and a mouthful of metal giving me an imploring look. “Yes?” I asked cautiously. Bitch was SO not getting my DS9 shuttlecraft ornament.
She looked pointedly downwards, and then met my eyes again. I cocked my head, and she repeated her previous move. This time, I looked down too, and saw my left breast hanging out of my dress. Thankfully, Victoria was (mostly) keeping a lid on MY secret, but WHOA.
“Thanks!” I chirped, as I slipped my wayward cow back into the barn. I then busily examined my Commander Riker ornament as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, which it kind of was at that moment.
So, I don’t even know how many people got a free show that day… but I DO know that I will not be giving Jean-Luc an eyeful come this June. Maybe there’s a reason Starfleet uniforms go right up to the neck…
|Sophia would never steer you wrong.|