Actually, maybe Linda Grimes did.
And then @BostonBookGirl reminded me of a good tale of my own.
Ah, those shining moments of embarrassment, when you truly wish the floor would swallow you up, because whatever monster is wriggling under the floor is CLEARLY better than where you are. Visible. Hideously exposed. Not only not-perfect-and-cool, but a mockery of humanity.
Or just klutzy.
When people ask me my most embarrassing moment, up till now my mind has always flown back to those agonizing two minutes freshman year of high school, when I slipped and slid--facedown--across the slick floor of the hall...and then the bell rang and everybody in the known universe poured out to find me there. But that's just high school. There are MORE.
Sixth grade. My teacher sent me somewhere--don't remember where, but I was pretty much teacher's pet at that point, so it's not surprising he'd send reliable me on a mission. Except I got easily distracted (then, as now) and didn't look where I was going. I slammed my forehead full-force into the metal pole standing outside the classroom. In view of everyone. Oh, yes. Knocked myself out for a couple seconds, and had to be helped by one of my less-distracted, eye-rolling classmates to the nurse's office to check for a concussion.
*sigh*
Seventh grade, English class. We were doing a word-search contest for some reason, which I usually won (still teacher's pet and always a word nerd). Problem: I had a really bad habit of sucking on the back of my pens while working. Bigger problem: this pen...it exploded. In my mouth.
So I had to decide: try to hide this incident, and possibly die from ink poisoning? Confess, spit, get help?
I trotted to the front of the class, my mouth bursting with ink, blue-black dripping from the corners like I was a vampire dining on octopus. Nurse's office. Spitting. Reputation oh-so-cool.
Geez. It's a wonder I survived at all. I'm sure there's more, too--that's just what I can think of right now.
How about you? Wanna keep me company with some
Um, mine are less due to my innocent foibles. I'll think about it. You're cute.
ReplyDeleteThe pen-exploding one is EPIC. I shared mine over at FtP just now.
ReplyDeleteFair warning: it's slightly gross.
You know how they say that most traffic accidents happen within a mile of home?
ReplyDeleteWell, most severely embarrassing moments happen in one place, too.
High school.
I was a band geek, in the 1970's. And as the big fish in a little cesspool, I became the lead trombonist in the jazz band.
That accomplished two things for me, socially. One was that I had the motivation and parental support to cool up my wardrobe. Two was that I became friends with a few seniors who otherwise would have been too cool for me, including Bill, whose mother was the drama teacher, and who I passed every day in the hall.
Which, in the 1970's, meant polyester. Lots of it. For jazz band, lots of black, because black was cool. And my coolest combination of all were shiny black pants and a black silky long sleeve shirt with larger-than-life orchid prints in a neon blue that would have Nero Wolfe on a hunger strike.
And that's how I came to stand behind a microphone at center stage, in the middle of my junior year, with the jazz band opening the winter concert. I had 3 solos that night, and I really got into them, bobbing and weaving and emoting.
I was so cool.
Walking back to the band room, Bill caught up with me, and said, "Hey, Quist. My Mom said your fly is open."
Now, an open fly in black pants is not always a disaster, particularly when you're wearing a black shirt with it.
I looked.
I could have stopped a train, guided an F16 onto a pitching carrier deck, started a race, fought a bull, or led Santa's sleigh that night.
And I had 5 minutes to change into my band uniform and get back on stage for the second hour of the concert.
OMG, that pen story is priceless! So how long did it take you to get cleaned up?
ReplyDeleteTawna
So, Suze, what DOES ink taste like? Inquiring minds want to know. ;)
ReplyDeleteHmmm... I wonder which tasted worse- your pen ink or Matt's frog guts?
ReplyDeleteThat's a question I'll likely never have an answer to.
Ah, yes. Freshman year, broken ankle, crutches, snow, linoleum floor. Splat! Just as the senior boys all walked out of calculus class.
ReplyDeleteElisabeth: Ha! You simultaneously made yourself sound so potentially evil and me so angelic. Neither is probably true.
ReplyDeleteMatthew: I love yours! Still, EW.
Jonathan: Poor guys. You do have to worry about that much more than we do.
Tawna: Thankfully I've blocked out everything after the stumbling up to the front of class part. I think it was a long time, though. And I suspect I was stained for a while.
Linda: Bleck. It tastes like BLECK.
Stephanie: I'm sure frog guts is worse. Ink is yucky, but...
ReplyDeleteKari: *sigh* There's always at least one of those, right?
The mental picture I have of you drooling ink is priceless and shall remain with me always. LOL.
ReplyDeleteFlag camp, the summer before my senior year in high school. I had only just (barely) gotten brave enough to try out for flags and was the last one chosen for the squad, so of course I didn't already have a uniform. The squad captain called me at home the week before camp to make sure I knew what I needed, but she had a slight speech impediment.
ReplyDeleteShe *said* "Dancekin" (a brand name which I've probably misspelled) bloomers. I *heard* "sateen" bloomers. We couldn't find any (duh) so my mom made me a pair. Bright, shiny red ones.
Didn't find out the mistake until just before we took the field for a final, full uniform, TELEVISED competition. Several hundred girls in short little skirts and I was the *only* one in shiny red bloomers.
Oh, my, Loretta.
ReplyDeleteYou could've flagged a train, too!
Yours are just... OUCH! I'm so sorry.
ReplyDeleteI think my most embarrassing moment was in the ninth grade, when I was new at school and being pursued by this boy I was _not_ interested in. I got to school and he was sort of hanging back, following me in the hallway while checking our lockers. I had borrowed my mom's boots she used to wear when she was a teenager that laced in a very complicated way up my legs, and I hadn't really done the laces the right way. So I see him coming, and I speed up and start RUNNING... and trip over the fancy borrowed laces and skid on my face on the floor with my books everywhere in front of pretty much everyone in my grade. The boy I wasn't interested in? He never bothered me again. But I ripped the laces on one my mom's boots and they matched the boots and were irreplaceable, since she got them way back in 1969. :(
The best kind of stories are the ones that you can just LOL forever in the retellings. I am chuckling over here, Suze. Brave of you to share. The pen story is my favourite. As for my own--I plead the fifth!!!
ReplyDeleteA friend called me to say she was getting married--immediately (shotgun wedding). "Please, please, PLEASE come..."
ReplyDeleteOkay. Just got home from a trip. No clean clothes. I find a pair of silver pants under a box at the top of the closet. Throw 'em on. Head to the chapel. I'm wanted in the bridal room.
"That's what you're wearing?" she gasps.
"Sorry."
"But I want you to be my maid of honor."
"Oh crap." So I march right down the aisle w/ my knocked up friend, not realizing WHY those pants were shoved up under the sewing box in my closet. The crotch was split WIDE OPEN.
And I wasn't even wearing cute undies. I was wearing those god-awful Grandma Thelma things. You know the ones?
Three hundred people got to see my Grandma Thelmas that day. Uh-huh. Major embarrassing.
FYI: I've also posted my embarrassing story on my blog. No sense trying to hide the fact. It's just a part of who I am.
Ack, just getting to these! Sorry!!
ReplyDeleteTrisha: It's a lovely mental picture, isn't it? *gag*
Loretta: Oh. Dear. That is...ugh. You win.
Nova: Another face-slide! Oh, face-slides are SUCH fun. *sarcasm*
Courtney: no fun from you. :P But yeah, the pen one...I actually forgot it for many years and it suddenly came back full flood (of ink!)
Mechelle: Oh no!! And I bet there are many pictures...but that's what she gets for asking you last minute!
I think I love you more!
ReplyDelete