The first blog hump

Apparently it's a little bit difficult to start writing your first blog.  I know this because so far, I have started writing this blog three different times and have erased it all to start over.  So this is my final go at it.

Last night I met up with five of my girlfriends from high school for dinner in our hometown.  It was great to see them and catch up on everything new .  For the most part we all have jobs in our fields of interest or plans to attend Grad School this fall.  It made me feel so lucky that even though I haven't kept in close contact with all 14 'girl posse' members (self-titled, mind you), we can still meet up and enjoy each other's company. 

While we ate and shared stories of the places we'd been and the people we've met, I spotted several people that I recognized as fellow graduates of Rosemount, '05.  Some I made eye contact with and smiled to while others I prented not to see.  One girl in particular was working as a server at the bar, and the feeling I got after seeing her was that she had hurt me in the past.  I don't recall if she ever bullied me, or even picked on me specifically, but I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling I got after seeing her. 

The night went on and shortly before we finished our meal, the server I recognized came walking towards our table with her hands full of dirty dishes and platters after clearing a table.  Just as she reached our table, she lost her balance and everything started to fall.  Dishes hit the floor, pizza platters skidded across the carpet,  and the bar made a unanimous "ooohh" sound.  I froze.  I suddenly wasn't sure what to do.  Should I help her?  Should I keep pretending I don't know her and stare at her along with everyone else in the bar? 

I sat there, continued to eat and chatter away with my girlfriends.  I didn't bend down and help her pick up the platter that had fallen next to my chair.  And honestly, I feel like I owe her an apology.  I SHOULD have helped her.  I SHOULD have bent down, told her it was no big deal, and that everyone drops things- don't even sweat it!

I assume that since I didn't see her again that night she avoided our side of the bar like the plague.  I would have too.  But I still have this feeling of regret for not helping her out.  I can't imagine the embarassement I would feel having dropped dirty dishes in front of old classmates.

I hope the world is kind to her today.  I hope karma doesn't come back to bit me too hard in the ass...