The walk of shame

I've got a confession. I am a happily married woman, but last January I performed the Walk of Shame. If you're not familiar with the walk of shame then you obviously didn't go to college. Or you did go to college but it was BYU or Catholic, although I'm pretty sure that Catholic has seen it's fair share of the W.O.S. (Unrelated I totally want to go to Catholic to finish my Religion degree, they have a study abroad program that makes me one of the Woo Girls) or you're a Duggar; which is unlikely as they frown on the internet lest their girls be exposed to things like jeans, women's rights and current hairstyles.


But I digress...Quelle Surprise! 




Just like any affair, it began innocently enough. In this instance I was egged on by my friends Rachell and Janice.


Trust me, you'll love it said Rachell.


I can't stop myself said Janice.


I'm too old for this! I protested.


I'm older than you, Rach reminded me then told me just how good it felt to be naughty.


He is so hot, Stephanie, he's delicious. Janice implored.


So I gave in. And it was good. Good in that way that M&M's are good. No nutritional value whatsoever but you can't.stop.eating.them. Before I knew it I was staying up late, waiting till everyone fell asleep and then sneaking off to indulge. 


And then it happened. The Walk of Shame.


Nervously I approached him, flushing as his hand touched mine as I handed it to him.


He said: Exchange?


I said: Yes. 


And blushed further. And just like any guilty person I couldn't stop talking, offering far too many details.


I vomited out: I bought it for my niece but she already had it so I just need the last one. For my niece. She doesn't have that one.

LIES. ALL LIES.

Not even 36 hours earlier I had stood in that same Borders and reached for the book, fingers touching it just a fraction of a second before the 13 year old girl who was just opening her mouth to say "Mom, can I have..." I plucked up the book right as her fingers grasped the now empty space where it had been. She gaped at me in disbelief and, God help me, I smiled triumphantly and trounced up to the register. Thrilled that I had gotten the last copy - stolen right out from underneath a child.

Now I shamefully clutched the bag with the newly exchanged final book secured for my non-existent niece to my chest and hurried out into the night, wearing yesterdays yoga pants, tank and hoodie. It was indeed a Literary Shame F***, just as Rachell had said it would be, and as I walked the Walk of Shame I thought man, it was worth it! 


I had an affair with Twilight and my husband didn't divorce me. He did however, suggest therapy.


Also? Renesmee? Stupidest name ever.