Pink Lady

Warning: if you have even the slightest capacity for empathy with a fellow human being, you will be very embarrassed by the end of this story...

On Sunday afternoon, I took BB to the local park for an hour. It was my token outing of the 3-day weekend, since I've been trying to rest up and FH has (thankfully) been elected "prime child-carer" for the duration.

With hindsight... I would have been much better advised to stay home the whole weekend...

While BB burned off some calories, I got chatting to an English couple I'd never met before. It's not exactly rare to meet fellow Brits in Toulouse, but it's rare enough that when you do, you tend to get drawn to each other, smile a friendly smile and, if the signs are good, maybe strike up a conversation.
This was a lovely couple: you know, exquisitely polite and smiley and well-spoken in that uniquely English fashion. The husband was a charming, slightly awkward Hugh Grant-type with paler skin and sandy hair.

Anyway, whilst we were chatting, BB made a beeline for the big kids' slide, and was half-way up it before I realised what was going on. I rushed over and clamboured up the steps after him (that slide is scarily high: far too high for a kiddies park, in my view), but he was too quick for me, and we were soon right at the top.
Only when BB saw quite how far down it was, he got cold feet, froze and decided he didn't want to slide down after all. But we were stuck. A queue of other kids had already formed behind us, and the only way down was... down.
"It's alright!" cheered Hugh Grant from the bottom of the slide, "I'll catch him!"
So after a few more seconds hesitation, with BB still clinging white-knuckled to the bar, I had no option but to bite my lip, take a deep breath and give him a gentle push (er.. shove) down.
Off he sped.

But we haven't got to the embarrassing part yet.

BB safely down... that left me.
None of the five kids lined up impatiently on the steps was going to budge and let me down that way. So it seemed I would have no choice but to follow BB down the slide.
"It's alright!" cheered Hugh Grant (again) from the bottom of the slide. "I'm here!"

Oh Lord.
So there I was, over 6 months pregnant, wearing a short dress with no tights for the FIRST TIME this year (why?? why??), forced to slide unprettily down into the waiting arms of a complete stranger.
And, of course, just to make the shame complete, my dress rode up as I set off, revealing two milky white, sun-deprived thighs and - horror of horrors - a pair of bright pink knickers.
(let me just clarify something here: this was a genuine case of "everything else is in the wash." I am 6 months pregnant and have all the energy of a lethargic snail, so I was NOT wearing pink knickers for pleasure. But isn't that just Sod's Law? THE day you just happen to be wearing bright pink underwear is the day you find yourself whizzing down a slide with an English gentleman staring up at you, bog-eyed).

For a few cringeworthy seconds, I knew EXACTLY how Bridget Jones must have felt.

So here the tale ends. My cheeks are a deeper shade of crimson than my underwear, all dignity is lost.
The conversation with the English couple just never seemed to flow quite as naturally after that, and I soon made my excuses and claimed that BB was "so tired" we had to leave. Immediately.
(helpfully, BB decided to kick up a big fuss at this point and run away from me back to the slide, as though to underline the audacity of my lie. So an embarrasing tussle ensued, with me cooing weakly "come on, come on... I know you want to go home...").

The question now is: how long before I can reasonably return to the park?
Or would it be better just to start looking for a new park?