Most Embarrassing Moments

I was inspired by another blog to post my most embarrassing moment. There have been many, but there are six that are particularly bad that I haven't blocked out of my memory. I shall elaborate...

#6: Every time my grandfather steps foot in my house, it is an unholy disaster. (Many people have seen my house in terrible condition, but it's the most humiliating when it's him.) We're talking a couch completely piled to the ceiling with laundry that needs to be folded, empty dishes on the floor next to the couch, toys scattered everywhere, the kids pajamas strewn across the room, (all of my children have an aversion to dressing in the privacy of their bedrooms unless there are visitors in our house who might otherwise catch a glimpse of their underwear), and if Grandpa could see into my kitchen - oh the horrors that would meet his eyes there. He never drops by in the moments that the place looks halfway presentable. Never.

#5: In my sophmore year, I transfered from Battle Ground High School to La Center High School. There, I had the "joy" of participating in gym class with girls who actually cared about sports. I was used to, and perfectly comfortable among girls who hated anything that required bouncing a ball while running, jogging in circles, or hitting a shuttlecock with a racket that was anything but a natural extension of their reach. So I faked it. I was left with no choice but to play basketball with most of the members of the girls varsity team and a few guys who also knew what they were doing. P.E. was just an extension to basketball practice to these people, and I was caught in the middle. People always assume that because I am tall, I know how to play. Wrong. I had no idea what the "key" was, how to dribble without looking at my hand, or the proper body movement required to make a lay-in. On one of these dreaded days of basketball I decided to really make an attempt to play so that people wouldn't start to resent that I hadn't somehow acquired a medical exemption for the class. Well, it didn't go over so well. I tried to block a shot that Chris Strickland was making, and I ended up smashing my face into something that felt like a boulder, but which I think was his head or elbow. I went down on all fours, pouring blood from my nose and wishing to be anywhere else in the world. I'm not sure who cleaned up the blood, or if Chris made his shot or not. I hope he missed by a mile.

#4: It wasn't long ago, (thus the embarrassing factor), that my father asked me if I had heard that Stevie Wonder wasn't really blind, that it was all a marketing ploy. I bought it, hook, line and sinker. I was shocked and impressed, and asked someone else in my family if they had heard the news. I think that's when everyone lost it and started laughing at me. Silly me. I should know by now not to believe anything that my father tells me. I have since passed that wisdom on to my children. They now have a nice, healthy doubt for any story Papa tells them.

#3: Let's venture back to 7th grade, where we probably all have some humiliating memories of Junior High. I was in love with a boy named Jason Schattauer. (I feel good about not being sure of the spelling of his last name; it suggests healing.) I got the butterflies every time we passed in the hallway. I'm not sure why I had a thing for him. He had floppy hair, much like Conan O'Brian, and a stupid laugh, a loping walk and was not exactly a gentleman, as we are about to learn. I was in gym class wearing a lovely pair of neon green or orange shorts, I don't remember which, but I owned a pair in each color, so it could have been either. I was blissfully unaware that neon had gone out of style years before, but I probably wouldn't have cared had I known. My class and I were standing in 6 lines waiting for the teacher to finish roll call and assign us the ridiculous chore of playing dodge ball or some other sort of torture. I think I was talking to one of my friends when I felt my neon shorts being yanked down. Chivalrous Jason had sneaked up behind me and pantsed me right there in front of 30 or so of my peers. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't had a hole in my underwear. If only the cosmos could enlighten us as to the days we would be showing off our undergarments to the public, we could always be certain we were adequately covered! Anyway, I turned my usual shade of maroon, pulled my shorts back up and tried to laugh it off. Sadly, I don't think this ended my infatuation for Jason. Too bad our future selves can't pay us a visit and set us straight during those sickening teenage years.

#2: I just re-thought posting this one...well, we'll do it in an anonymous way. We went to visit someone when Cameron was about 4 or 5 years old, and that person was on their front porch when we arrived. Andrew and I stood outside with said person, visiting for a minute, while Cameron and Ethan headed inside. It was only a matter of seconds before Cameron popped his head out of the front door and exclaimed, "It smells like crap in here!" Withering moment of mortification.

And finally,

#1: This happened 21 years ago, but it still makes me cringe to think about it. I was the awkward 8 year old in third grade with huge glasses and frizzy hair. Also wore outfits that my mother swears she let me pick out, but I firmly believe that she forced upon me. I had my first major crush on a big-eared boy named Brandon Minor. He was the younger brother of my older sister's best friend, Becky. Well, lucky me, my parents went out of town overnight and we got to spend the night at the Minor's house. They were in our ward and friends with my parents, so it seemed a good choice to them and I was not complaining. I remember nothing of that weekend except for the one incident. The incident that made my face burn like red hot fire for the rest of my third grade year, and would have continued long after if we hadn't moved. It was in the late afternoon when Sister Minor told us it was time for showers. So I went first while everyone else was playing outside. I used the downstairs bathroom, and when I was nice and clean, I realized there were no towels in the bathroom and I hadn't brought my pajamas into the bathroom with me. I stood there for a long time wondering what to do. I couldn't call for help as everyone was outside. So while I pondered my predicament, I air dried. Finally, I realized that I would have to make a run for it to Becky's room down the hall where my clean clothes lay in wait. I have no idea why I didn't just put my dirty clothes back on for the venture down the hall, but you know what they say about hind-sight. I slowly opened the door just a crack to make sure the coast was clear. Then I shut the door again, took three deep breaths, prepared to make a run for it, and threw open the door. Then I froze. In the nano second that I had been gathering my courage, Hunky Brandon had come down the stairs and was witness to my full frontal display. We both stood completely motionless for what seemed like an hour, but was probably just a sliver of a moment. But I will forever remember his hand still holding the banister, the look of shock on his face and one of his feet still resting on the last stair. When I finally regained control of my naked 8 year old body, I slammed the door back shut and waited for my sis and her pal to come back inside. I sat there, freezing cold in the bathroom, still too dumb to re-clothe myself in my dirty attire, running through it all over and over in my mind, sure that on Monday morning I would be the laughing stock of Ms. Crandall's class and possibly the entire school. Let's all remember that just because a third grader has nothing special going on in the naked department doesn't mean that it wasn't the end of my life. If only I had possessed the unnatural curves of today's average third grader, I could have strutted my stuff into class on Monday with a well deserved aura of pride. Luckily, the worst that came of it, aside from my damaged mental state, was a flaming face every time I saw Brandon for the rest of the school year and whenever he was drug to our house with his parents. Not much has changed since then in the naked department. I still have the flat chest and unshapely legs, but I like to think that if the same thing happened again today, the victim of my parade wouldn't have quite such a profound look of horror on their face. I'd settle for a giggle.