The Walk of Shame
Most of us have done it. For those who want to act innocent and pretend not to know what I’m talking about, let me give you a quick definition.
The Walk of Shame - The trek home in the early morning after “sleeping over” at a “friend’s” house. Due to typical circumstances, the walk is done in the clothes/make-up/ensemble from the night before.
Story time…
Not too long ago, I went out dancing with a group of friends. The guys got all spiffy for the night, and the girls all dolled up. We had a great time and wanted to keep partying after the venue had closed.
Some friends who were visiting from out of town were staying at a really nice hotel just down the street so we decided to mosey on over there for the after-party.
I know you think you’re about to read some juicy details about a swinging good time full of xxx madness. I hate to disappoint you but the night was completely innocent. I swear! No one’s pants came off. I’d fess up otherwise.
We decide to sleep over with a plan to leave in the early morning. (At this point you should be commending me for choosing not to drive under a “tired/tipsy” influence.) So at 9am, my girl and I get up quietly so as to not wake anybody else up. We put on our heels, collect our jewelry and grab our car keys. We head to the bathroom to fix our hair and clean off any smears of eyeliner. As we’re standing in front of the mirror, we look at each other and start laughing. We both realize that we’re about to make our way through the hotel wearing last night’s skirts, heels and make-up. We are about to do a faux “Walk of Shame!”
We take a deep breath, leave without saying goodbye, and make a quick break for it. After all, it’s 9am on a Sunday. How many people can we possibly come across??
Well, let me tell you….
As soon as we get about 10 feet away from the door, a housekeeper comes pushing a cart of supplies down the hall. She looks at us, gives a smug smile and says, “Good morning.” We mumble back, “good morning,” giggle, and start walking faster. We think, “Ok, we’re about to reach the elevator. We’ll be cool.”
We get closer to the elevator and see a man and his teenage daughter ahead of us. “Maybe they’ll keep walking,” my friend says to me. Wrong. They make a left turn towards the elevators, and as we make that left turn after them the man looks at me up and down. He must’ve thought, “My daughter better not do this when she’s older.” I scuff back at him, as though to convey that he’s the one who should be ashamed for being judgmental.
The elevator arrives and all four of us hop in. The man and his daughter stand on one side. My friend and I on the other. I whisper to her, “We’re almost there.” Just then the elevator stops at the very next floor. The doors open to reveal a couple and their two very young children standing there with luggage. Great! Who knows what went through the couple’s minds as they saw the odd foursome already standing there. My friend and I must’ve looked like escorts.
The two families begin to make small talk. My friend and I look at each other and smile. Finally, the elevator arrives at our destination. We let everyone out ahead of us. Now we just have to walk through the lobby and out to the street where we parked the car the night before.
As we make the final stretch of our journey, we realize the lobby is full of people checking-out and that there’s a long line outside the door at the valet.
So much for getting away clean. We had originally thought that we’d bump into one or two people on our way out, but this was ridiculous!
We endured the humility that comes with “The Walk of Shame,” but had nothing to show for it.
Wompitty womp womp.
