A.I. G-Rated Farm News

[RonR]

Jill: "You seemed to guess this right away. Why?"

There was a short pause on the other end of the line before Amy’s familiar voice crackled back, laced with amusement. "Oh, come on, Jill," Amy began, letting out a chuckle, "you know yourself as well as I do. The moment I heard you were heading to a farm, I could predict how this whole thing was going to go down. I mean, farms and you don’t exactly mix." She made sure to emphasize the “you.”

"Please," Amy continued, her tone teasing, "you’re the girl who once treated the town park like it was a runway. Your idea of ‘roughing it’ is heading out for brunch and dealing with a 5-minute wait for avocado toast." She laughed again, clearly enjoying how well she knew her friend. "So, the thought of Jill-the-prep-princess at a muddy farm? It was pretty clear some sort of fashion disaster was coming. You always want to look like you’re nailing country life, but honestly, I knew you’d end up front and center in whatever mess the farm could serve up."

Jill could hear the grin in Amy’s voice. "And let’s face it, from the moment you started describing your outfit this morning—your perfect, preppy [*white*] linen pants, your Tretorns, like, pristine and all... I mean... Jill, it was obvious."

Jill pouted even though Amy couldn’t see it. "Obvious? Really?"

"Yeah, babe," Amy replied, her tone turning a notch softer. "You put yourself in situations where your perfection’s bound to get tested by real life. That’s why I guessed you’d end up getting, well, let’s say, involved with the mud.”

---

Jill: "If you were there watching from a distance, what would you have been thinking as I set up this shot on the hay bale? Me doing multiple takes after the first one was fine? Me pulling out my cell phone as I leaned over the edge? How do you picture that unfolding?"

Amy practically squealed on the other end. "Ohhh, Jill! Let me paint you a picture!" she teased through fits of laughter, clearly relishing the opportunity to retell the event through her own eyes.

"So, imagine me over by the barn, maybe trying to pet a chicken or something,” she started, “and I see you, perfectly poised in your fresh-out-of-the-country-club outfit, looking like you just walked out of a Ralph Lauren ad while standing at a muddy farm." Amy paused, letting the visual settle. Jill could already mentally picture Amy with one hand raised above her eyes, shading them like a distant spectator.

“I’d be thinking, like, ‘Oh no, she’s not really going to do multiple takes,’ but of course, I’d also know you—and YES. Yes, you absolutely are. You’re going for perfection, talking to the camera like you’re Anderson Cooper in the middle of a war zone instead of just summarizing a few broken fences. And each time Joe sets up for another take, I’d be hearing that little voice in my head saying, ‘One more time, huh? She’s definitely bound to slip.’

“Now, the moment when you pull out your cell phone? Oh my God, that would’ve been the real giveaway,” Amy continued dramatically. "There you are, cool as a cucumber, leaning over the edge of a hay bale so you can get the perfect postable moment, and I’m just—waiting for it." She adds in an exaggerated but playful tone, "Because let’s be honest, Jill, that balance? The way the hay doesn’t hold up like concrete? The precarious lean? The way your shoes are probably right on the verge of slipping?"

"From the moment you leaned for that shot, while thinking about your Instagram feed, I would have known exactly how it would play out," Amy said, her voice raising theatrically like she was narrating a scene in a slapstick comedy. "One second, flawless Insta-ready Jill, the next second—splat! Muddy-Jill, head-to-toe in disaster!"

Jill sighed dramatically, though deep down, she knew Amy was right. She could almost see the absurdity of it all herself now.

Amy finished her reenactment with a light giggle. "I mean, the moment you went in for that last second ‘one more shot’ move, I would’ve been thinking, ‘Well, there she goes. Should’ve quit while she was ahead.’ Classic Jill."

---

Jill: "Be honest, would you have laughed? Why?"

A second passed, but Jill could hear the smile in Amy’s response. "Oh, Jill..." Amy started, unable to keep the affection out of her voice, "Of course I’d have laughed. I mean, how could I not? But it’s not because I’d be rooting for you to fail or anything. I think it’s just... you. It's so you. And seeing you, Miss Always-Perfect, land in a literal mud puddle would just be... well, it would have been funny in the moment. Like, slapstick comedy, you know?"

Amy continued, her voice softening with genuine fondness. "But I wouldn’t be laughing at you—I'd be laughing at the perfect irony of it all. Here’s this confident, put-together, preppy girl who thinks she can handle anything nature throws at her with style. But the universe? Sometimes it has other plans. And Jill, you're usually too concerned with keeping your hair in place or your shoes spotless to see them."

She paused for a moment, her tone shifting playfully again as she confessed: "But come on, you have to admit there’s something kind of hilarious about how it turned out—you of all people, face down in farm mud after going the extra mile for a selfie! Of course I’d have laughed. You would’ve laughed too if it wasn’t you in the mud!”

Jill couldn’t deny the truth in Amy’s words, though she was still too mortified to admit it openly. But a tiny smirk crept across her face as she recalled the absurdity of the fall—the whole dramatic, muddy, gravity-defying sequence. She thought of the moment she hit the mud, sunglasses flying, outfit destroyed, camera lens focused right on her, and realized... if it hadn't been her, maybe she'd be laughing too.

Amy giggled mischievously on the other end before adding, "Laughing is like... a friend privilege, right? So yeah, I would’ve probably laughed until I cried and then helped you get out. I mean, let’s be real here. Who else would lend you their jacket after you lose your mind over getting mud on your blouse?"

Jill sighed dramatically and half-laughed through her frustration. “Okay, okay, I get it. It was one of those... can’t-look-away moments."

"Exactly," Amy replied, unable to resist one last jab. "Followed immediately by me saying ‘I told you so!’ and then helping you wipe all that mud off those poor Tretorns."

Jill said, "Speaking of the Tretorns, the blue plaid was just released for this spring. Sooo cute. I can't believe they're ruined!" Jill went on to explain how careful she had been up until that final moment. Describe Jill daintily tiptoeing around the mud puddles and asking for straw to be placed in her path. Describe how comfy they were and the canvas that practically glowed in the sun.

Describe Jill saying how she inspected them a few times throughout the day to make sure nothing had happened and they had remained perfect.

Describe Jill saying how when she was getting ready to take the iPhone picture, she admired them for a moment as they shimmered in the sun and wiggled her toes inside as a sign of happiness.

Describe Amy's responses to each of those remarks from Jill.

 

[FeedBot]

Jill said, "Speaking of the Tretorns, the blue plaid was just released for this spring. Sooo cute. I can't believe they're ruined!" Jill went on to explain how careful she had been up until that final moment. Describe Jill daintily tiptoeing around the mud puddles and asking for straw to be placed in her path. Describe how comfy they were and the canvas that practically glowed in the sun.

Describe Jill saying how she inspected them a few times throughout the day to make sure nothing had happened and they had remained perfect.

Describe Jill saying how when she was getting ready to take the iPhone picture, she admired them for a moment as they shimmered in the sun and wiggled her toes inside as a sign of happiness.

Describe Amy's responses to each of those remarks from Jill.

### Jill: "Speaking of the Tretorns, the blue plaid was just released for this spring. Sooo cute. I can't believe they're ruined!”

The frustration rolled off Jill's voice. Of all the things that could go wrong at the farm, the absolute worst was the fate of her pristine, fresh-from-the-box Tretorns. She shook her head, still in disbelief as she continued, her voice filled with a mix of outrage and sorrow.

“I was so careful, Amy. You have no idea. Like, I was actually daintily walking around every mud puddle. I swear, my steps were lighter than a ballerina’s! Joe even commented on how delicate I looked. Any time we got to one of those muddy spots, I had one of the farmhands lay down handfuls of straw to make sure nothing would touch my shoes—or my pants, for that matter. It was that serious!”

She gave a dramatic sigh. “The canvas was practically glowing in the sun, Ames! They were still so white you could see the blue plaid stripe pop. It felt like I had little beams of light radiating from my feet.”

### Amy:
Amy could barely keep up with the series of tragic emotions streaming from her friend. “Oh my God, Jill, you literally had someone laying out straw for you? Like you’re royalty or something?” she teased, but there was genuine affection in the mockery.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, that’s exactly something I’d expect you to do—and I totally get it. Honestly, those Tretorns sound like they were made for sunny Instagram shots. But what did you think would happen? Farms equal dirt, babe.”

Jill, undeterred by Amy’s playful jabs, carried on with her recounting.

---

### Jill: "I checked them so many times throughout the day. Every break we took, I’d glance down to make sure they were still perfect. And they *were perfect. Not a speck out of place, they stayed glowing white, despite being around all that... filth. I don’t even know how! At one point, I stopped and just stared at them because they were still so pristine!"*

She laughed a little in disbelief. “Joe kept saying they were like little beacons against all the mud. If anyone else were wearing them, they would’ve gotten absolutely trashed, but mine stayed perfect. It’s like they knew I’d take care of them.”

### Amy:
Amy chuckled deeply, shaking her head though Jill couldn’t see her. “Wow, okay, so you inspected them like an art curator at a museum?” She was trying so hard not to laugh at how precisely Jill was recounting every moment. “I love that you didn’t just trust the glow—you were, like, religiously checking them!”

But Amy wasn’t exactly surprised. “Girl, I don’t know how you pulled that off for most of the day, though. That’s a skill. You could probably write a book on ‘How to Wear White Shoes in a Non-White-World.’”

Jill snorted. “If only that were a job.”

“But seriously,” Amy added, “I love that you were basically tiptoeing through a farm like it was a minefield, just to protect your shoes. You were asking for trouble.”

---

### Jill: “So, when I was getting ready to take that iPhone picture—God, Amy—I had a moment, you know? I stood there for a second, just admiring them. The light was hitting them *perfectly, and they were still gleaming white. I thought to myself, ‘I look so cute. These shoes? They’ve survived all this. They’re my heroes.’ I even wiggled my toes inside them because they felt so comfy... like a little victory wiggle. And then—WHAM! The freaking hay bale gave out from under me."*

There was pure disbelief in her voice. “I mean, I literally had my victory moment in my head... and one second later, I was flailing face-first into a pit of mud. Like, the irony couldn’t have been worse! One second, I’m cute, stylish, Instagram-model Jill. The next? I’m practically swimming in farm sludge!”

### Amy:
Amy’s laughter burst out, filling the space between them, her voice practically shaking. “Oh, my... Jill!” she gasped between fits of giggles. “A victory wiggle! You had a little toe party in your heroic Tretorns before everything collapsed around you?”

Jill could hear the wheezing laugh on the other end and couldn’t help but smile, despite the mortification. “I’m not exaggerating, Ames. It was the fastest descent from ‘perfect’ to ‘disaster’ that’s ever happened.”

“But that’s so you!” Amy teased, trying to catch her breath from laughing. “You were literally setting up your shot like, ‘Look at me, these shoes are my warriors—I’ve conquered the elements,’ and then the universe was like, ‘nope.’"

Wiping away tears from laughing, Amy sighed. “You know, it’s kind of poetic. Only you would have an existential moment with your sneakers!” Amy’s tone was mischievous. “And only you could dramatically descend into the ultimate mud bath seconds later.”

“I mean," she continued, trying to soothe her laughter, "I don’t want to say you deserved it... but maybe when you leaned over and started admiring your shoes too much, they got jealous. The farm gods probably thought, ‘Okay, enough of that. Time to humble Jill!’”

Jill couldn’t even argue with her best friend. “Stop making me laugh, it’s only making this worse!”

“I should be the one laughing!” Amy replied. “You had a mud masterpiece moment. Just... not the kind you were hoping for.”

“And those poor Tretorns,” Amy added dramatically. “Rest in peace, blue plaid. You were too pretty for this world.”

 

[RonR]

### Jill: "Speaking of the Tretorns, the blue plaid was just released for this spring. Sooo cute. I can't believe they're ruined!”

The frustration rolled off Jill's voice. Of all the things that could go wrong at the farm, the absolute worst was the fate of her pristine, fresh-from-the-box Tretorns. She shook her head, still in disbelief as she continued, her voice filled with a mix of outrage and sorrow.

“I was so careful, Amy. You have no idea. Like, I was actually daintily walking around every mud puddle. I swear, my steps were lighter than a ballerina’s! Joe even commented on how delicate I looked. Any time we got to one of those muddy spots, I had one of the farmhands lay down handfuls of straw to make sure nothing would touch my shoes—or my pants, for that matter. It was that serious!”

She gave a dramatic sigh. “The canvas was practically glowing in the sun, Ames! They were still so white you could see the blue plaid stripe pop. It felt like I had little beams of light radiating from my feet.”

### Amy:
Amy could barely keep up with the series of tragic emotions streaming from her friend. “Oh my God, Jill, you literally had someone laying out straw for you? Like you’re royalty or something?” she teased, but there was genuine affection in the mockery.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, that’s exactly something I’d expect you to do—and I totally get it. Honestly, those Tretorns sound like they were made for sunny Instagram shots. But what did you think would happen? Farms equal dirt, babe.”

Jill, undeterred by Amy’s playful jabs, carried on with her recounting.

---

### Jill: "I checked them so many times throughout the day. Every break we took, I’d glance down to make sure they were still perfect. And they were perfect. Not a speck out of place, they stayed glowing white, despite being around all that... filth. I don’t even know how! At one point, I stopped and just stared at them because they were still so pristine!"

She laughed a little in disbelief. “Joe kept saying they were like little beacons against all the mud. If anyone else were wearing them, they would’ve gotten absolutely trashed, but mine stayed perfect. It’s like they knew I’d take care of them.”

### Amy:
Amy chuckled deeply, shaking her head though Jill couldn’t see her. “Wow, okay, so you inspected them like an art curator at a museum?” She was trying so hard not to laugh at how precisely Jill was recounting every moment. “I love that you didn’t just trust the glow—you were, like, religiously checking them!”

But Amy wasn’t exactly surprised. “Girl, I don’t know how you pulled that off for most of the day, though. That’s a skill. You could probably write a book on ‘How to Wear White Shoes in a Non-White-World.’”

Jill snorted. “If only that were a job.”

“But seriously,” Amy added, “I love that you were basically tiptoeing through a farm like it was a minefield, just to protect your shoes. You were asking for trouble.”

---

### Jill: “So, when I was getting ready to take that iPhone picture—God, Amy—I had a moment, you know? I stood there for a second, just admiring them. The light was hitting them perfectly, and they were still gleaming white. I thought to myself, ‘I look so cute. These shoes? They’ve survived all this. They’re my heroes.’ I even wiggled my toes inside them because they felt so comfy... like a little victory wiggle. And then—WHAM! The freaking hay bale gave out from under me."

There was pure disbelief in her voice. “I mean, I literally had my victory moment in my head... and one second later, I was flailing face-first into a pit of mud. Like, the irony couldn’t have been worse! One second, I’m cute, stylish, Instagram-model Jill. The next? I’m practically swimming in farm sludge!”

### Amy:
Amy’s laughter burst out, filling the space between them, her voice practically shaking. “Oh, my... Jill!” she gasped between fits of giggles. “A victory wiggle! You had a little toe party in your heroic Tretorns before everything collapsed around you?”

Jill could hear the wheezing laugh on the other end and couldn’t help but smile, despite the mortification. “I’m not exaggerating, Ames. It was the fastest descent from ‘perfect’ to ‘disaster’ that’s ever happened.”

“But that’s so you!” Amy teased, trying to catch her breath from laughing. “You were literally setting up your shot like, ‘Look at me, these shoes are my warriors—I’ve conquered the elements,’ and then the universe was like, ‘nope.’"

Wiping away tears from laughing, Amy sighed. “You know, it’s kind of poetic. Only you would have an existential moment with your sneakers!” Amy’s tone was mischievous. “And only you could dramatically descend into the ultimate mud bath seconds later.”

“I mean," she continued, trying to soothe her laughter, "I don’t want to say you deserved it... but maybe when you leaned over and started admiring your shoes too much, they got jealous. The farm gods probably thought, ‘Okay, enough of that. Time to humble Jill!’”

Jill couldn’t even argue with her best friend. “Stop making me laugh, it’s only making this worse!”

“I should be the one laughing!” Amy replied. “You had a mud masterpiece moment. Just... not the kind you were hoping for.”

“And those poor Tretorns,” Amy added dramatically. “Rest in peace, blue plaid. You were too pretty for this world.”

Jill asked Amy, "You mention slapstick a few times. I'm not sure what that it is and how it relates to me." What are you talking about?

Describe Amy's response.

Jill asked Amy, "You described what you picture happening. Tell me what you imagine me thinking at each step on that bale of hay from the first take, to the loss of balance, to the fall, me struggling to get out and as I stood outside the mud assessing the damage to my clothes."

Describe Amy's response.

 

[FeedBot]

Jill asked Amy, "You mention slapstick a few times. I'm not sure what that it is and how it relates to me." What are you talking about?

Describe Amy's response.

Jill asked Amy, "You described what you picture happening. Tell me what you imagine me thinking at each step on that bale of hay from the first take, to the loss of balance, to the fall, me struggling to get out and as I stood outside the mud assessing the damage to my clothes."

Describe Amy's response.

### Jill: "You mention slapstick a few times. I'm not sure what that even is or how it relates to me. What are you talking about?"

Amy burst into another round of laughter, but this time with a playful groan of affection. "Oh, Jill! Okay, slapstick is a kind of physical comedy, right? Like... think of old silent films where people trip over their own feet or step on a banana peel and go flying. Picture someone trying to move gracefully while their world just crumbles around them. Lots of exaggerated ‘oops’ moments, you know?"

“Now as for how it relates to you?” Amy couldn’t contain her smile as she continued. “It’s like, here you are, Miss Poised-and-Perfect, walking around a farm wearing canvas Tretorns and white linen, of all things, like you’re the star of some chic countryside fashion catalog. And then you get those little moments of disaster—like slipping in the mud or, oh I dunno, falling off a hay bale.” Amy chuckled again. “And you’re so into the moment of admiring your shoes or lining up the Instagram pic, that when it blows up in your face, it becomes... well, slapstick.”

"Think about it," she added with a grin. "There you are, standing all dramatic and proud, and then—boom! Mud faceplant. It’s like something out of a comedy sketch!" Amy wiped an imaginary tear from laughing too hard. "It’s not that you’re trying to be funny—but life just has a perfect way of pulling the rug—or hay bale—out from under you."

---

### Jill: "Okay, fine, I get it. So, you picture it all playing out like that. Well, you’ve already described what you saw happening from a distance—now tell me this: what do you imagine I was thinking at each moment? From the first take, through the loss of balance, to the fall, me struggling to get out of that horrible pit, and me finally standing outside the mud covered in it."

Amy let out a content sigh, clearly enjoying this too much. "Oh, trust me, I’ve got this mental image down to a science,” she said with an exaggerated sense of drama. “Ahem, allow me to narrate.”

### Take One: The Confident Jill
“You, at the start—let me paint the scene—you’re on top of the hay bale. First take, eyes focused, chin slightly lifted. You’re thinking, ‘I own this shot. I’m killing it. I’m on my way to Fashion Week–Farm Edition.’ You’re probably half-thinking about how your hair’s settled perfectly after fixing it for the tenth time, and how Joe better be getting all the glory of those white linen capris breezing in the wind.”

Jill couldn’t help but smirk. "Okay, you're not wrong so far."

---

### The Need for Extra Takes: Perfectionist Jill
Amy continued, “Then you probably start thinking, ‘Okay, now let’s nail this with a second, slightly better take. Not that I need it. But just to have options.’ Because you, my dear, never like to settle for the first option. You’re probably cycling through the kinds of angles you want, how your outfit looks in the shot—and of course, how perfectly those Tretorns are showing up against the backdrop of the farm. You’ve probably already forgotten about the mud surrounding you.”

---

### The iPhone Moment: Admiring Jill
"Now here’s the best part," Amy said excitedly, "when you take out your iPhone. At this point, your head’s spinning, and you're fully in Insta-mode. You’re like: ‘Oh my God, those Tretorns look amazing. This lighting is great, I need this shot for my feed. Farm chic, with a hint of rustic—a perfect juxtaposition!’ And then, as you admire those shoes—you’re having a little ‘I did it!’ internal celebration. You’re wiggling your toes—feeling oh-so-proud of both your styling and balancing skills.”

Amy paused, chuckling. "But it’s right there, Jill, when your thoughts take that detour into a victory lap that suddenly—you feel it. The hay under your foot shifts. You go from ‘Oh look at me, I’ve conquered the countryside,’ to: ‘Wait... why am I tipping?’"

---

### The Fall: Disaster Jill
Leaning in as if telling a dramatic ghost story, Amy added, “And then it happens—the ultimate slapstick moment. You feel yourself lurch forward. Now you’re panicking internally. Your thoughts are like: ‘No, no, no, this can’t be happening oh my god, I’m falling—my shoes!’”

Jill groaned. “Did I really think about my shoes even while falling?”

“Oh, totally," Amy teased. "You were mid-flail struggling to decide between saving your face or your shoes—and trust me, both were doomed. Then there’s this one second where I imagine your mind just went blank, like, ‘This... isn’t... real.’ But oh, it's real, Jill. It’s real! Because two seconds later, splat! You hit full-on mud swamp."

Jill let out a semi-laugh, semi-groan, her face flush with embarrassment. "I was mortified."

---

### Struggling in the Mud: Determined Jill
Amy continued with glee, “Now you're in the mud, completely disoriented. At this moment, you're mad. I imagine you're muttering through gritted teeth, ‘This can’t be happening. I need to get up, I need to fix this. I'm not supposed to be in the mud, I'm supposed to be above it. I am Jill!’” Amy made a fist in the air dramatically to imitate how Jill would have been clawing herself upright.

“You probably tried every move possible to scramble out of there gracefully, but of course, you slip again—like the universe going, ‘Yeah, nope, try again.’”

Jill sighed in agreement, recalling those few futile attempts at getting back on her feet.

---

### Finally Standing Up: Defeated Jill
Amy could hardly get through this part without laughing. “And finally, oh my God, Jill, when you managed to stand outside the mud pit? I’m almost positive you were just thinking: ‘I swear to God, if this mud has ruined my entire outfit… I’m done.’" She snorted, “I bet you started doing a mental inventory of how much each piece of your outfit cost. First thought was probably: ‘Tretorns, gone. Linen pants, toast. My blouse? God, the blouse! Don’t even talk to me about my blouse.’”

"Ugh, you're not wrong!" Jill admitted.

“And at this point," Amy continued, "you’re a mix of disbelief and anger—like, ‘How could this happen?? I’m too careful for this! I was supposed to leave perfectly clean!’ You’re so close to being mad at the universe, but all you can manage to do is stand there, like a muddy statue, trying to understand how you went from perfectly poised to farm disaster in under two seconds."

Jill groaned again, her cheeks bright red. But even she had to crack a smile, realizing how ridiculous the whole thing had been.

---

### Jill: "Okay, fine, you nailed it. Now that you’ve laid out my humiliation in such detail... what would you have done if you were in my shoes?"

Amy cackled one last time, “Oh honey, if I were in your shoes? I’d have probably tripped after the first take... still wearing boots!”

 

[RonR]

### Jill: "You mention slapstick a few times. I'm not sure what that even is or how it relates to me. What are you talking about?"

Amy burst into another round of laughter, but this time with a playful groan of affection. "Oh, Jill! Okay, slapstick is a kind of physical comedy, right? Like... think of old silent films where people trip over their own feet or step on a banana peel and go flying. Picture someone trying to move gracefully while their world just crumbles around them. Lots of exaggerated ‘oops’ moments, you know?"

“Now as for how it relates to you?” Amy couldn’t contain her smile as she continued. “It’s like, here you are, Miss Poised-and-Perfect, walking around a farm wearing canvas Tretorns and white linen, of all things, like you’re the star of some chic countryside fashion catalog. And then you get those little moments of disaster—like slipping in the mud or, oh I dunno, falling off a hay bale.” Amy chuckled again. “And you’re so into the moment of admiring your shoes or lining up the Instagram pic, that when it blows up in your face, it becomes... well, slapstick.”

"Think about it," she added with a grin. "There you are, standing all dramatic and proud, and then—boom! Mud faceplant. It’s like something out of a comedy sketch!" Amy wiped an imaginary tear from laughing too hard. "It’s not that you’re trying to be funny—but life just has a perfect way of pulling the rug—or hay bale—out from under you."

---

### Jill: "Okay, fine, I get it. So, you picture it all playing out like that. Well, you’ve already described what you saw happening from a distance—now tell me this: what do you imagine I was thinking at each moment? From the first take, through the loss of balance, to the fall, me struggling to get out of that horrible pit, and me finally standing outside the mud covered in it."

Amy let out a content sigh, clearly enjoying this too much. "Oh, trust me, I’ve got this mental image down to a science,” she said with an exaggerated sense of drama. “Ahem, allow me to narrate.”

### Take One: The Confident Jill
“You, at the start—let me paint the scene—you’re on top of the hay bale. First take, eyes focused, chin slightly lifted. You’re thinking, ‘I own this shot. I’m killing it. I’m on my way to Fashion Week–Farm Edition.’ You’re probably half-thinking about how your hair’s settled perfectly after fixing it for the tenth time, and how Joe better be getting all the glory of those white linen capris breezing in the wind.”

Jill couldn’t help but smirk. "Okay, you're not wrong so far."

---

### The Need for Extra Takes: Perfectionist Jill
Amy continued, “Then you probably start thinking, ‘Okay, now let’s nail this with a second, slightly better take. Not that I need it. But just to have options.’ Because you, my dear, never like to settle for the first option. You’re probably cycling through the kinds of angles you want, how your outfit looks in the shot—and of course, how perfectly those Tretorns are showing up against the backdrop of the farm. You’ve probably already forgotten about the mud surrounding you.”

---

### The iPhone Moment: Admiring Jill
"Now here’s the best part," Amy said excitedly, "when you take out your iPhone. At this point, your head’s spinning, and you're fully in Insta-mode. You’re like: ‘Oh my God, those Tretorns look amazing. This lighting is great, I need this shot for my feed. Farm chic, with a hint of rustic—a perfect juxtaposition!’ And then, as you admire those shoes—you’re having a little ‘I did it!’ internal celebration. You’re wiggling your toes—feeling oh-so-proud of both your styling and balancing skills.”

Amy paused, chuckling. "But it’s right there, Jill, when your thoughts take that detour into a victory lap that suddenly—you feel it. The hay under your foot shifts. You go from ‘Oh look at me, I’ve conquered the countryside,’ to: ‘Wait... why am I tipping?’"

---

### The Fall: Disaster Jill
Leaning in as if telling a dramatic ghost story, Amy added, “And then it happens—the ultimate slapstick moment. You feel yourself lurch forward. Now you’re panicking internally. Your thoughts are like: ‘No, no, no, this can’t be happening oh my god, I’m falling—my shoes!’”

Jill groaned. “Did I really think about my shoes even while falling?”

“Oh, totally," Amy teased. "You were mid-flail struggling to decide between saving your face or your shoes—and trust me, both were doomed. Then there’s this one second where I imagine your mind just went blank, like, ‘This... isn’t... real.’ But oh, it's real, Jill. It’s real! Because two seconds later, splat! You hit full-on mud swamp."

Jill let out a semi-laugh, semi-groan, her face flush with embarrassment. "I was mortified."

---

### Struggling in the Mud: Determined Jill
Amy continued with glee, “Now you're in the mud, completely disoriented. At this moment, you're mad. I imagine you're muttering through gritted teeth, ‘This can’t be happening. I need to get up, I need to fix this. I'm not supposed to be in the mud, I'm supposed to be above it. I am Jill!’” Amy made a fist in the air dramatically to imitate how Jill would have been clawing herself upright.

“You probably tried every move possible to scramble out of there gracefully, but of course, you slip again—like the universe going, ‘Yeah, nope, try again.’”

Jill sighed in agreement, recalling those few futile attempts at getting back on her feet.

---

### Finally Standing Up: Defeated Jill
Amy could hardly get through this part without laughing. “And finally, oh my God, Jill, when you managed to stand outside the mud pit? I’m almost positive you were just thinking: ‘I swear to God, if this mud has ruined my entire outfit… I’m done.’" She snorted, “I bet you started doing a mental inventory of how much each piece of your outfit cost. First thought was probably: ‘Tretorns, gone. Linen pants, toast. My blouse? God, the blouse! Don’t even talk to me about my blouse.’”

"Ugh, you're not wrong!" Jill admitted.

“And at this point," Amy continued, "you’re a mix of disbelief and anger—like, ‘How could this happen?? I’m too careful for this! I was supposed to leave perfectly clean!’ You’re so close to being mad at the universe, but all you can manage to do is stand there, like a muddy statue, trying to understand how you went from perfectly poised to farm disaster in under two seconds."

Jill groaned again, her cheeks bright red. But even she had to crack a smile, realizing how ridiculous the whole thing had been.

---

### Jill: "Okay, fine, you nailed it. Now that you’ve laid out my humiliation in such detail... what would you have done if you were in my shoes?"

Amy cackled one last time, “Oh honey, if I were in your shoes? I’d have probably tripped after the first take... still wearing boots!”

After the call with Amy, Jill called her mother in Hartford. Have Jill retell the story for her mother. Mom is just as much of a priss as Jill. Have her mother, Ann, respond with each point in the story.

 

[FeedBot]

After the call with Amy, Jill called her mother in Hartford. Have Jill retell the story for her mother. Mom is just as much of a priss as Jill. Have her mother, Ann, respond with each point in the story.

### Jill’s Call to Her Mom

As soon as Jill hung up with Amy, her mortification reignited at the thought of reliving her fall. But she couldn’t help herself—there was one more person she just had to call: her mother, Ann, who was perhaps the only person on Earth who could fully understand the utter horror of what Jill had just been through. After all, Ann had raised her with the same commitment to elegance and avoiding anything remotely dirty or unrefined.

Jill tapped her mom’s contact, and the phone rang twice before Ann picked up with her usual crisp, elegant tone.

Ann:
“Jill, darling! Is everything all right? How did your shoot go?” Her mother's voice was smooth, expecting nothing less than perfection in her daughter’s day.

Jill:
“Oh, Mom…” Jill sighed dramatically, her mind reliving each muddy second. “You have no idea. It was a disaster. An absolute disaster!” Without realizing it, she slipped into the dramatic cadence her mother adored.

Ann:
There was a brief pause on the other end as if Ann were processing the shock of Jill’s admission. "A disaster? On the farm?” Ann said, her voice laced with distaste at even mentioning the word farm. “Tell me everything, darling. What happened?"

---

### Jill Retelling the Story to Ann

Jill:
“Well, I was so careful this morning, Mom. I picked out my perfect white linen ankle capris. You know, the ones we got in Martha’s Vineyard last spring? And I paired them with my brand new Tretorns—the ones with the blue plaid stripe from their spring collection!”

Ann:
“Oh yes, of course, I remember those shoes. I told you the plaid made them such a step above ordinary canvas sneakers... so fresh for the season." Ann let out a sigh of approval, her tone filled with the comforting knowledge that her daughter's style had been impeccable, as always. "White linen, though? On a farm? Oh, Jillian, I would’ve made the very same choice. It shows class, but I can already tell where this is headed. How could you march around a farm without ruining such an outfit?”

---

Jill:
“Well, it was fine for most of the day. I was so dainty, Mom—I tipped and toed around every bit of mud, like I was walking through a minefield! And... oh my God, I even had one of the farmhands lay down fresh straw in some of the muddier spots to keep my outfit intact!”

Ann:
"Oh, I love that level of foresight!" Ann said with approval. "I would’ve done the exact same thing. Can you imagine expecting your clothes to touch mud? Not a chance! But a farmhand, you say? Laying straw? I do hope the planks were thick so you didn’t have to balance terribly... but your efforts sound flawless so far, dear.”

---

Jill:
“They were! The farmhand thought I was over the top, but I was all, ‘Look, you may live with mud, but I do not!’” Jill huffed, frustrated even recalling it. "And my Tretorns... Mom, they were perfect the entire time. The canvas was pristine, practically glowing in the sun!"

Ann:
“I’ve always said shoes are the centerpiece, Jillian. You know that. If the shoes are flawless, even the suggestion of mud can’t detract from perfection!" Ann sounded almost proud as she imagined her daughter standing there, her bright white shoes rising above the grime. "But... I sense something terrible is coming." Her voice dropped, prepared for the horror Jill was about to reveal.

---

Jill:
“Mom, I was obsessing over them. I kept checking every few minutes, making sure nothing had gotten on them. I was inspecting them like they were treasures in a museum.” Jill’s voice dropped, the weight of Disaster Jill setting in. “And then…” she paused for dramatic effect, “I decided—against all reason—that I needed a pic for Instagram.”

Ann:
“What do you mean, decided?” Ann gasped. “That’s practically a requirement! I mean, what would be the point of such a pristine morning without the evidence? You should be celebrating the fact that you stayed so clean! But… oh no…” She dashed her thoughts against the obvious, her voice thick with motherly intuition. “Go on, what happened?”

---

Jill:
“I was feeling too proud, Mom. I had it all—the angle, the sun hitting my Tretorns perfectly... I even wiggled my toes inside them because they felt so comfy!” She sighed. “Then... the hay bale I was standing on gave way. And I tumbled... directly into the muddiest pit imaginable!” Jill put as much drama in her voice as she could, still cringing as the memory replayed in her mind.

Ann:
"NO!" Ann gasped, sounding like someone had just revealed a scandal. “You—fell? Into the mud? Oh my God! Your outfit, Jillian. Your shoes! Your hair! How did this happen? Who left you standing on a hay bale of all things? Don't they realize that those things are barely stable?!” Ann’s outrage was palpable, as if someone had personally wronged her.

---

Jill:
“I know!” Jill all but wailed. “The hay bale just crumbled under my foot. And I tried to balance myself, but it was too late. And, Mom, the worst part was, I could feel my shoes sinking in as I hit the mud.” Her voice lowered to a horrified whisper. “I didn’t just fall... I slid. My pants, my blouse... everything was covered!”

Ann:
“You slid?” Ann’s voice dripped with incredulity. “Oh, Jillian, I can’t even... My heart is breaking. You slid into that pit like some... casual bystander who doesn’t care about their appearance?! With linen on no less? Words fail me.”

---

Jill:
“Mom, you don’t understand,” Jill said, her voice matching her mom’s level of disbelief. “I tried to get up, but I kept slipping in the mud. It was humiliating. And Joe”—she rolled her eyes—“was filming the whole thing. I literally asked him, in the mud, ‘Did you get that?’ and he had the nerve to say yes!”

Ann:
“Filmed?!” Ann’s voice reached a new level of shock. “Why was no one helping you? Oh, Jillian, that is by far the worst offense! Not only are you trapped in filthy mud but it’s been documented! I can’t even fathom the indignity of it all. What is this, some sort of sad farm ritual to embarrass visitors? They should be ashamed!”

---

Jill:
"And after I finally got up, I just stood there, covered head to toe in muck, Mom... My Tretorns. They were completely ruined. When I got back in the car, it felt like mush inside my shoes—like I was walking through pudding." She groaned. "I looked down at my outfit, and I wanted to cry. Everything I’d worked so hard to keep spotless? Gone in two seconds.”

Ann:
“Oh, Jillian, darling..." Ann gasped dramatically. "That's devastating. Mush? Inside your Tretorns?" She actually sounded pained. “I honestly don’t know how you maintained your composure. This is a tragedy of the highest caliber. Do you want me to call the company about the hay bale instability? I can make sure they’re held accountable for this entire episode.”

Jill:
“Mom, I don’t think we’re suing the hay company, but thank you,” Jill said, shaking her head even though Ann couldn’t see her.

Ann:
“Well, as soon as you’re home, send me the link to where you got those shoes and that blouse. I’ll have replacements shipped immediately. And please—promise me you'll have the car detailed tomorrow. We simply cannot let any traces of this disaster remain.”

---

Jill:
“I will, Mom. Thanks.” Jill couldn’t help but smile. It felt good to be understood—even if the entire situation had been humiliating.

Ann:
“And, darling?"

Jill:
“Yes?”

Ann:
“Never, ever trust farm equipment again.”

Jill:
“Absolutely not. Lesson learned.”

And with that, Jill felt just a fraction better, knowing that at least her mom had her prissy back.

 

[RonR]

### Jill’s Call to Her Mom

As soon as Jill hung up with Amy, her mortification reignited at the thought of reliving her fall. But she couldn’t help herself—there was one more person she just had to call: her mother, Ann, who was perhaps the only person on Earth who could fully understand the utter horror of what Jill had just been through. After all, Ann had raised her with the same commitment to elegance and avoiding anything remotely dirty or unrefined.

Jill tapped her mom’s contact, and the phone rang twice before Ann picked up with her usual crisp, elegant tone.

Ann:
“Jill, darling! Is everything all right? How did your shoot go?” Her mother's voice was smooth, expecting nothing less than perfection in her daughter’s day.

Jill:
“Oh, Mom…” Jill sighed dramatically, her mind reliving each muddy second. “You have no idea. It was a disaster. An absolute disaster!” Without realizing it, she slipped into the dramatic cadence her mother adored.

Ann:
There was a brief pause on the other end as if Ann were processing the shock of Jill’s admission. "A disaster? On the farm?” Ann said, her voice laced with distaste at even mentioning the word farm. “Tell me everything, darling. What happened?"

---

### Jill Retelling the Story to Ann

Jill:
“Well, I was so careful this morning, Mom. I picked out my perfect white linen ankle capris. You know, the ones we got in Martha’s Vineyard last spring? And I paired them with my brand new Tretorns—the ones with the blue plaid stripe from their spring collection!”

Ann:
“Oh yes, of course, I remember those shoes. I told you the plaid made them such a step above ordinary canvas sneakers... so fresh for the season." Ann let out a sigh of approval, her tone filled with the comforting knowledge that her daughter's style had been impeccable, as always. "White linen, though? On a farm? Oh, Jillian, I would’ve made the very same choice. It shows class, but I can already tell where this is headed. How could you march around a farm without ruining such an outfit?”

---

Jill:
“Well, it was fine for most of the day. I was so dainty, Mom—I tipped and toed around every bit of mud, like I was walking through a minefield! And... oh my God, I even had one of the farmhands lay down fresh straw in some of the muddier spots to keep my outfit intact!”

Ann:
"Oh, I love that level of foresight!" Ann said with approval. "I would’ve done the exact same thing. Can you imagine expecting your clothes to touch mud? Not a chance! But a farmhand, you say? Laying straw? I do hope the planks were thick so you didn’t have to balance terribly... but your efforts sound flawless so far, dear.”

---

Jill:
“They were! The farmhand thought I was over the top, but I was all, ‘Look, you may live with mud, but I do not!’” Jill huffed, frustrated even recalling it. "And my Tretorns... Mom, they were perfect the entire time. The canvas was pristine, practically glowing in the sun!"

Ann:
“I’ve always said shoes are the centerpiece, Jillian. You know that. If the shoes are flawless, even the suggestion of mud can’t detract from perfection!" Ann sounded almost proud as she imagined her daughter standing there, her bright white shoes rising above the grime. "But... I sense something terrible is coming." Her voice dropped, prepared for the horror Jill was about to reveal.

---

Jill:
“Mom, I was obsessing over them. I kept checking every few minutes, making sure nothing had gotten on them. I was inspecting them like they were treasures in a museum.” Jill’s voice dropped, the weight of Disaster Jill setting in. “And then…” she paused for dramatic effect, “I decided—against all reason—that I needed a pic for Instagram.”

Ann:
“What do you mean, decided?” Ann gasped. “That’s practically a requirement! I mean, what would be the point of such a pristine morning without the evidence? You should be celebrating the fact that you stayed so clean! But… oh no…” She dashed her thoughts against the obvious, her voice thick with motherly intuition. “Go on, what happened?”

---

Jill:
“I was feeling too proud, Mom. I had it all—the angle, the sun hitting my Tretorns perfectly... I even wiggled my toes inside them because they felt so comfy!” She sighed. “Then... the hay bale I was standing on gave way. And I tumbled... directly into the muddiest pit imaginable!” Jill put as much drama in her voice as she could, still cringing as the memory replayed in her mind.

Ann:
"NO!" Ann gasped, sounding like someone had just revealed a scandal. “You—fell? Into the mud? Oh my God! Your outfit, Jillian. Your shoes! Your hair! How did this happen? Who left you standing on a hay bale of all things? Don't they realize that those things are barely stable?!” Ann’s outrage was palpable, as if someone had personally wronged her.

---

Jill:
“I know!” Jill all but wailed. “The hay bale just crumbled under my foot. And I tried to balance myself, but it was too late. And, Mom, the worst part was, I could feel my shoes sinking in as I hit the mud.” Her voice lowered to a horrified whisper. “I didn’t just fall... I slid. My pants, my blouse... everything was covered!”

Ann:
“You slid?” Ann’s voice dripped with incredulity. “Oh, Jillian, I can’t even... My heart is breaking. You slid into that pit like some... casual bystander who doesn’t care about their appearance?! With linen on no less? Words fail me.”

---

Jill:
“Mom, you don’t understand,” Jill said, her voice matching her mom’s level of disbelief. “I tried to get up, but I kept slipping in the mud. It was humiliating. And Joe”—she rolled her eyes—“was filming the whole thing. I literally asked him, in the mud, ‘Did you get that?’ and he had the nerve to say yes!”

Ann:
“Filmed?!” Ann’s voice reached a new level of shock. “Why was no one helping you? Oh, Jillian, that is by far the worst offense! Not only are you trapped in filthy mud but it’s been documented! I can’t even fathom the indignity of it all. What is this, some sort of sad farm ritual to embarrass visitors? They should be ashamed!”

---

Jill:
"And after I finally got up, I just stood there, covered head to toe in muck, Mom... My Tretorns. They were completely ruined. When I got back in the car, it felt like mush inside my shoes—like I was walking through pudding." She groaned. "I looked down at my outfit, and I wanted to cry. Everything I’d worked so hard to keep spotless? Gone in two seconds.”

Ann:
“Oh, Jillian, darling..." Ann gasped dramatically. "That's devastating. Mush? Inside your Tretorns?" She actually sounded pained. “I honestly don’t know how you maintained your composure. This is a tragedy of the highest caliber. Do you want me to call the company about the hay bale instability? I can make sure they’re held accountable for this entire episode.”

Jill:
“Mom, I don’t think we’re suing the hay company, but thank you,” Jill said, shaking her head even though Ann couldn’t see her.

Ann:
“Well, as soon as you’re home, send me the link to where you got those shoes and that blouse. I’ll have replacements shipped immediately. And please—promise me you'll have the car detailed tomorrow. We simply cannot let any traces of this disaster remain.”

---

Jill:
“I will, Mom. Thanks.” Jill couldn’t help but smile. It felt good to be understood—even if the entire situation had been humiliating.

Ann:
“And, darling?"

Jill:
“Yes?”

Ann:
“Never, ever trust farm equipment again.”

Jill:
“Absolutely not. Lesson learned.”

And with that, Jill felt just a fraction better, knowing that at least her mom had her prissy back.

Jill was so excited when the package arrive the following week. Every article of clothing, including the Tretorns, were replaced! Happy Day!

Jill thought if she wore them in public it would be like nothing ever happened to the first set. Kind of erasing history, right?

This time, though, not wearing them to a farm. The station summer picnic was being held at a local park on a beautiful sunny day. Perfect place for a re-debut! Describe her gleefully assembling her outfit that morning before heading to the park.

Arriving at the park, she parked in an upper lot and noticed her group in the field below. She waives to everyone as looks down the grassy hill. Describe a scenario where between the car and the picnic grove, Jill manages to wipe out in a similar amount of mud that she encountered at the farm, again totally destroying her entire outfit. Detail step for step how that happens. Was she being careless? Self absorbed?

Describe her reaction and dismay. Describe the reaction from her coworkers.

Next, describe her call to her friend again, Amy, where she recounts what just happened. How it happened. Why it happened. Detail Amy's response point by point.

 

[FeedBot]

Jill was so excited when the package arrive the following week. Every article of clothing, including the Tretorns, were replaced! Happy Day!

Jill thought if she wore them in public it would be like nothing ever happened to the first set. Kind of erasing history, right?

This time, though, not wearing them to a farm. The station summer picnic was being held at a local park on a beautiful sunny day. Perfect place for a re-debut! Describe her gleefully assembling her outfit that morning before heading to the park.

Arriving at the park, she parked in an upper lot and noticed her group in the field below. She waives to everyone as looks down the grassy hill. Describe a scenario where between the car and the picnic grove, Jill manages to wipe out in a similar amount of mud that she encountered at the farm, again totally destroying her entire outfit. Detail step for step how that happens. Was she being careless? Self absorbed?

Describe her reaction and dismay. Describe the reaction from her coworkers.

Next, describe her call to her friend again, Amy, where she recounts what just happened. How it happened. Why it happened. Detail Amy's response point by point.

### Jill’s Gleeful Morning: The Outfit

The sunlight was streaming through Jill’s bedroom windows, casting a cheerful golden glow as she eagerly tore into the package that felt like a second chance at redemption. Finally, the replacements had arrived—everything she’d lost to the mud fiasco at the farm. The crisp, white linen capris. The blue madras blouse. And the pièce de résistance: her brand-new, gleaming Tretorns with the fresh blue plaid stripe.

Perfect.

As she gingerly laid each pristine piece on her bed, she smiled to herself. Today was the day to erase history. Sure, the first set had met an untimely, muddy death, but no one at the station knew that. Wearing the exact same outfit to the station’s summer picnic for its public re-debut would feel like pressing the “reset” button. It would be like the other Jill—the one who embarrassingly tumbled into a swamp—never existed.

Humming softly to herself, she slipped on those delicate, white linen capris, marveling at how cool and light they felt against her legs. Next, the blue madras blouse, which draped perfectly against her frame, evoking relaxed chic. And then—her Tretorns. She slid her feet into them and gave a small, satisfied wiggle, feeling victorious as the canvas gleamed in the morning light.

Looking in the mirror, Jill felt utterly flawless. This wouldn’t be another farm fiasco. It was a sunny day, and they were heading to a local park. Safe. Grassy. Ready for photos.

Nothing could go wrong. She gave herself one last loving glance in the mirror before heading off to the station’s picnic.

---

### Arrival: The Grassy Hill

As Jill pulled into the upper lot of the park, she spotted her coworkers down in the picnic grove below, already seated by the checkered blankets and picnic tables set up under a shaded oak tree. The field stretched out before her, a gently sloping grassy hill that would lead her straight there.

Waving to some of them enthusiastically from her car, she popped on her sunglasses, imagined the sun glinting off her white Tretorns as she walked gracefully down to join them, and smiled. No mud. No disasters. Just gleaming shoes and admiration waiting for her.

With her picnic basket in hand, Jill began descending the hill. This hill was gentle, right? No obstacles in sight. Nothing like that menacing farm terrain.

But as Jill confidently took each step towards the group, tossing back her hair and checking her phone—mentally crafting the perfect Instagram post showcasing her intact outfit—she didn’t notice the one patch of grass that rested just over a hidden dip in the earth.

The thick dew from the morning had yet to dry completely, pooling at the bottom of the valley in places.

---

### The Slip: Step by Step Disaster

Step. Step. (Wave to Mary.) Step again. (Wonder if anyone is looking at her shoes—surely they were.) Squish.

It was minute. Barely noticeable at first. Her left Tretorn landed right in the middle of the dewy slope. The blades of grass were slick, making the ground next to it soft and—without realizing it—her shoe slipped ever so slightly forward. Her balance immediately shifted, causing a panic to bloom in her chest.

“Well, that’s not great,” she muttered, trying to catch herself.

But as she twisted at the waist and tried to redistribute her weight, her right foot gave way and slid in the opposite direction. Suddenly, it all clicked into a terrifying deja vu.

[Jill’s internal monologue:]
“No… no… no… NOT AGAIN!”

Arms flailing like she was trying to take flight, Jill’s legs slipped out from under her, the entire hillside somehow now a slippery death trap. Her left shoe hit a patch of mud hidden beneath the grass, dragging her foot along as if it were on ice, and down Jill went. Hard. Onto her backside. Then she slid even further down the grassy slope—her crisp white linen pants rubbing against the very thing she'd sworn she'd never encounter again: sticky, wet mud.

The picnic basket dropped from her hand, tumbling alongside her like a bad comedy, its contents scattered behind her as she desperately tried to right herself. But it was no use. Her Tretorns—tragically perfect just moments ago—were now caked in brown sludge. Worse yet, Jill felt her composure slipping further as she finally came to a halt at the bottom of the hill.

She blinked, stunned for a moment, not daring to look at herself. Then, unwillingly, she glanced down ...at the utterly wrecked scene before her.

Her flawless outfit? Gone.
The pristine capris? Destroyed.
The blouse? Splattered.
The Tretorns? A crime scene.

---

### Reaction and Dismay

“Oh. My. GOD!!” Jill squawked, lifting her arms to inspect the damage. Her white pants looked like they’d been used for finger painting with mud. Mud had soaked into her shirt sleeves as well, and... was that a leaf stuck to her hair?

She was paralyzed momentarily, her brain not willing to accept the impossibility of this happening twice... in nearly identical fashion.

From the picnic grove, her coworkers—originally waving back eagerly—had slowly come to a silent stillness, their hands halting mid-wave before drifting back to their sides, unsure whether to laugh or come to her aid.

"Is she okay?" someone muttered.

A nervous chuckle broke out from Kim in sales.

“I don’t think she’s okay,” whispered Mike, hiding a grin.

Eyes were on her. She could feel them. Mortification curled around her stomach like a snake.

---

### The Call to Amy

Sitting in her car, devastated and once again sitting on a towel to keep her muddy body from further trashing her interior, Jill yanked out her phone and immediately dialed Amy—hands still trembling. The phone rang only once before Amy’s cheerful voice answered the line.

Amy:
“What’s up? How’s the picnic—"

Jill:
"Amy! I did it again. AGAIN. I wiped out in the stupid mud AGAIN—it’s like the universe hates me!"

Amy: (after a pause, with growing joy)
"Wait… WHAT?" A stifled laugh echoed through the phone, and Jill heard Amy momentarily fumble—probably dropping something while trying to process the news.

Jill:
“Yes, you’re hearing me right," Jill said, her voice rising in anguish. “I was walking down this perfectly nice hill at the park, and the grass was just a little wet, and then—BOOM—I hit some kind of mud patch, and it was like the farm all over again!" Jill continued, her breath quickening. "My Tretorns—literally brand-new replacements—are RUINED AGAIN.”

Amy: (laughing openly now)
“Oh my God, Jill. What is with you and mud?!” She couldn’t help it now—tears of laughter were audibly streaming on the other end.

Jill:
“I don’t know! I was so careful! Again! And I thought, ‘oh, it’s a park, what could possibly go wrong?’ EVERYTHING WENT WRONG! The pants, the blouse, and don’t even talk to me about the shoes! They were literally perfect this morning!”

Amy:
“You waltzed in too smug again, didn’t you? Were you admiring your shoes? How much you want to bet you had another internal wiggle of the toes before you went flying?”

Jill:
Jill groaned dramatically. “…Maybe. But they deserved it! They were so white! And now…” She trailed off, looking at her now swamp-colored Tretorns.

Amy:
“Jill, this is starting to sound like an actual curse. Like some kind of rom-com where the storm follows you and only you. How does this happen twice?”

Jill:
“I don’t know… But it has to end. I’m cursed!”

Amy:
“Girl. Forget a curse…” She paused, struggling to stop laughing. “You need boots.