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Za-what Now?

29 Thursday Aug 2019

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

embarrassing moments, humiliation, humour, zumba


On my first full day of vacation, my dear friend, Bea*, who lives near the cottage we are renting, invited me to join her at a Zumba class.

What is zumba? The easiest definition I found was this: “Zumba combines high energy and motivating music with unique moves”. It is an exercise program designed in the 1990’s by a Columbian dancer/choreographer.

I went in fully expecting full-figured women in hot pink spandex aerobi-cizing like Richard Simmons. Instead, it was way less crazy more civilized. Our instructor was a 5 foot nothing, 90 pound sprite in black leggings, who floated across the floor. The studio itself only had one wall of shame mirrors – all the better to witness my humiliation.

“You know,” I confided in Bea, “I haven’t worked out since we trained for Mud Hero…6 years ago”. Bea just laughed and walked away.

We started “slow” – which is code for “getting our butts in gear”. This was no slow moving ballad but a hectic, hopped-up-on-caffeine kind of dance party. There was a lot of arm-flailing, side-stepping, twerking kind of stuff happening, as well as a lot of embarrassed grinning. I’m referring to my own reflection, of course. Everyone else moved in rhythm like a well-oiled dance ensemble. They were the cast of Swan Lake; I was clearly a goose!

I stepped to the back for a drink just as the instructor chimed, “That was a great warm up. Let’s get moving!” She was perky and enthusiastic, and clearly misguided if she thought I could do this. I nearly choked on my water.

Half-way through song 3, Bea whispered in my ear, “you’re picking this up quickly.  You’re a natural!” Natural disaster, maybe. I mean, when Mount St. Helens blew it’s top in 1980, it was an impression site, but then came all the fallout, and that mountain was never the same again.

Most of the next 30 minutes were a blur. The instructor kept calling out instructions – up, down, left, right…and naming body parts – elbows, hips, shoulders. She also used verbs – punch it, shake it, move it…and adjectives – sassy, sexy, light. Can anyone tell me how to make dying a long, torturous death look sexy?

By now, the heat in my face had reached volcanic proportions. The grinning pixie she-devil smiled and announced “we’re going to do the arm song next”. Everyone groaned. I wondered, what kind of new hell is this? “Keep them up” she yelled at me. Up? Up? I didn’t even know if they were still attached!

I was hugging the giant fan in the corner when they called my friend up to lead the class. Did I mention she works at this gym, and she attends this class for fun. For FUN! (masochist)! The clock said only 40 minutes had passed…and there was another 20 to go!

Bea led us in 2 songs, all focusing on leg work. I was still trying to keep up but every time she stood up, my legs flat-out refused. Jello had more structure. And when she dropped to the floor, I could feel the hysteria rising. It was a fight or flight response and I was clearly not ready to die. Fortunately, the song was cut off, which broke the tension and gave me a moment to hug the room fan again.

Every song seemed to be a combination of salsa, hip-hop, bollywood moves. I recognized a few from my belly dancing classes. I will never make it as an exotic dancer. And every song was bouncy and upbeat. I was just beat.

But it was also a lot of fun.

Occasionally, I caught on to the routine. I was still a goose next to the swans, but a little less uncoordinated. And even though I was still sweating at 3 a.m. and glowing like a red Christmas tree light, I wasn’t as sore as I thought I would be the next day. I fully expected to spend the remainder of the week shuffling between the kitchen and the bathroom, and waving my family off for time at the beach.

There’s another class tonight and I’m debating going.

giphy

https://giphy.com/gifs/funny-dance-dancing-wORSHzN5sGpRS/links

Happy Thursday!

*renamed to protect this hottie!

Close Call

18 Friday May 2018

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

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Tags

embarrassing moments, humour, toilets


Recently, a new study came out listing the Top 40 Signs You’re Getting Old. Among them were simple things like forgetting names, losing hair (or growing it in unwelcome places), and misplacing everyday items. There was a nod to complaining about new aches and pains, and moaning about ailments. As I kid, I clearly remember asking about moaning from my grandparents’ friends. It’s frightening to think that I’m now the age they were when I asked my innocent questions.

After reviewing this list, ticking off several boxes along the way, I noticed a glaring omission, at least one that surfaces in all of the circles I’m in – toileting issues. I am not referring to that stage in life when you’re negotiating with a toddler terrorist who refuses to poop in the potty. I’m referring to the war stories we trade like Pokemon cards. These stories range from simple oopsies (like a shart in the lineup at Walmart) to full blown Def-con 1 situations! This is one such story…

A few weeks ago, I woke up with an uncomfortable sensation low in my gut, long before my alarm started blaring. It was early because I had to be at a church “up north” by 9 a.m. to help lead worship. I managed to dress and grab a bite to eat in between 3 “rest stops” in 30 minutes. By 8:20, I was still feeling uncomfortable, so I popped another pepto and with my Bible in one hand and a change of clothes in a bag in the other, Little Guy and I headed out the door.

We stopped at the gas station five minutes later.

Once we hit the highway and the seat warmer was toasty, we sailed happily along. And then we got off the highway… and ended up lost on a windy, hilly country road in the middle of nowhere. I don’t just mean a place where there weren’t Tim Horton’s on every corner. I’m talking fields. Empty, snow-covered fields alarmingly absent of trees. I know this because I was scouting out an escape route.

With pressure mounting and prayer intensifying, we pulled over to check the map again. We were so close. Tears of relief wet my lids. When I pulled beside the little blue car in the parking lot, I did a double-fist-pump in the air. Then I realized the driver in the other car was not my colleague for the morning, but a rather pasty-faced, startled young man. I smiled and looked away.

Ten minutes passed.

Nothing stirred, except my digestive track.  I started to feel a chill running up to my shoulders, so I  tried to distract myself by reviewing what I had eaten the day before. The only suspect was one little homemade star-shaped cookie, filled with strawberry jam and lightly iced with a vanilla glaze. I hadn’t eaten sugary treats for over a month.

The inevitable wave of panic was still growing when my colleague arrived in his van. With his family – young, innocent babes who were going to witness a terrible tragedy if a keyholder didn’t show up soon. Deep breaths.

Another painfully long 5 minutes passed before he did.

Not knowing if he was a keyholder, I let my colleague and his son walk in first. I waited, debating whether I should text him. I knew that once I moved from this seat, the legions in my body would unfurl their wings and my chance of making it would be small. I wasn’t prepared to move an inch until I was certain.

I finally bolted from the car and down the driveway with as much dignity and lady-likeness I could muster in this precarious predicament. I rushed ahead of Little Guy and my colleague’s wife and daughter, who, upon seeing the wild look in my eyes and the beaded sweat on my brown, warned her daughter to let me go ahead (she’s a great Mom)!

I went straight to the loo. I would visit that sanctuary at least twice during the rehearsal. But I feared what would transpire once the service began. You see, the piano was on the far left side of the platform, the door to the loo in back right corner. The aisles were narrow; the room small. There would be no escaping without everyone seeing me. I popped another pepto!

I survived rehearsal, but as the counter on the screen hit 3 minutes, the demon inside me started to writhe. “Sorry!” I blurted as I hustled from the room. By now I had sweat through my clothes.

The pastors were praying when I returned, so I sat in the chairs behind them. When they finished, they glared hard at the back door, evidently wondering if I was coming back. I don’t know how much my colleague shared with the pastor but just before he headed up to start the service, he whispered sweetly, “We prayed for you”.

Fortunately, God answers prayer! I made it home.

I’m heading to my folks this weekend, and praying for an uneventful trip!

Happy Weekend!

Confession #10 :What’s under there?

03 Friday Feb 2017

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

confession, embarrassing moments, fashion, underwear


It’s been awhile since I’ve shared a confession. They can be embarrassing…but then, let’s be honest, embarrassing myself is a daily activity and sharing that embarrassment a regular thing in my blogs.  This time it doesn’t involve chocolate, or driving or even Halo Night! It involves something else…

Kid 1: What’s under there?
Kid 2: Under where?
Kid 1: Ha! Ha! I made you say underwear!

 

I like doing laundry – sorting, washing, folding, putting away. It’s an organizing activity that’s in my wheel-house. I fold everything standing up, and by everything I mean:

Hubby’s Socks – 1 fold (I roll the tops of mine)
Shirts – 5 folds
Pants – 3 folds
Wash/dish cloths – 2 folds
Pillowcases – 4 folds
Sheets – 4 folds
Etc.

That’s not the confession. This is the confession…

I also fold underwear.

When I fold other people’s laundry, I fold their underwear too. It’s less a “want” and more of a “need” to do it.

It started as part of my education in lingerie! Our store had a round table for bras (try keeping those cups stacked) and a round table for panties, which ladies loved to rifle through! From lacy thongs to Winnie-the-Pooh bikini briefs! I don’t know if it was a fascination with what they didn’t have in their own drawers and we’re too afraid to purchase, but all that rifling didn’t result in many sales. But I digress…

Here’s a step-by-step demonstration (thanks to Pinterest) for how to fold your underwear on a flat surface. Doing it standing up may be too advanced for the uninitiated…

 

how-to-fold-underwear-640x640

I don’t “tuck” either. Who has the time?

Now you may be thinking, after spending so much time pawing panties, what’s in my drawers? You’d be disappointed. After being exposed to so many varieties, some of which I have scarred me for life, I have a very mundane collection of bloomers.

First, there’s no satin or lace in sight.
Second, there’s nothing with strings or “floss” to be seen.
And finally, there are no giant, scary, stomach-holding-in knickers!

scary-underpants-640x480

Photo courtesy of pinterest.com

You can tell a lot about a person from his underwear. – Rachel Bilson

Kourtney Kardashian said “Mom always told us to wear pretty, matching underwear”. I wear plain old cotton bikini briefs that match nothing. What does that say about me? I’d say I’m practical because really, who is going to see it? Besides you in the next 10 seconds… I want comfort, not a perpetual wedgie. And I’m not willing to pay $20 for something I can wear only 3 times because it gets shredded in the washer!

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But I do like my pink & black skull and crossbones…

My great-grandmother always said not to leave the house in dirty underwear (ew!) and when she called an ambulance for my great-grandfather years ago, she made sure he had  – clean underwear! So if I’m ever in an accident, I’m prepared!

And that my friends, is my confession for the day, and the answer to your question: What’s under there?

Boring, folded underwear!

This morning when I put on my underwear I could hear the fruit-of-the-loom guys laughing at me.- Rodney Dangerfield

Happy Weekend!

How I Roll…Pt. 2

20 Friday Jan 2017

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

embarrassing moments, humiliation, humour


On Monday, I shared an embarrassing story in which toilet paper fixed my fashion faux pas.  I just wanted to look nice for my appointment, not pimp myself out like a cougar and risk causing permanent eye damage to my 12 year old doctor. I had to think fast!

In retrospect, suddenly gagging and running from the office might have helped me save face and a cancellation bill. But I don’t think fast. Instead, I had 3 choices flash through my panicked brain: keep my coat on and risk spontaneous combustion, confess my humiliation and clutch my Harry Potter book to my chest for the next 2 hours, or assemble a makeshift toilet paper top under my shirt.

That third inspiration struck while I was seated on the white porcelain throne in a tiny, purple bathroom.

“How long a minute is depends on which side of the bathroom door you are on.”

My little story garnered a fair bit of attention, particularly from ladies who know me personally and laughed their guts out at my expense giggled over my misadventure. Then they started demanding asking for pictures. I’m not sure if they want a) to see my new red top; b) see whether toilet paper is really a viable option should they ever be in the same situation; or, c) lack imagination and/or want to see the “horror” first hand. If they chose c), they will be disappointed. NO ONE sees my belly button, except me! (and possibly the assistant who did the intial eye tests before I realized that what I imagined I looked like far exceeded my frightening mental imaginings by a factor of 25)! Plus my oldest son reads my blog and I’ve already messed him up enough to keep a cheap therapist busy for decades!

You be the judge! Did I pull it off?

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Special thanks to Little Guy for taking my picture and not asking questions!

I would say, based on the fact that no one ran screaming from the office, including my 12 year old eye doctor who spent a great deal of time with his chin at my cleavage level, yes! Yes I did!

When I told my friend about my experience Monday afternoon, she couldn’t understand my mortification. “So what?” she says, “everyone has a belly button.. Besides,” she casually adds, “you have great boobs. You should show them off more often”.

“A good friend is like a bra…hard to find, supportive, comfortable, always lifts you up, makes you feel better, and is always close to your heart.”

While I appreciated her advice, I think not…that’s not the way I want to roll…

Everything is safely tucked away for the weekend and I hope you have a good one. But if you’re still in need a good laugh, feel free to enjoy this embarassing story. I will never cease to amaze amuse you!

Happy Weekend!

How I Roll…

16 Monday Jan 2017

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

bathrooms, embarrassing moments, fashion, humour, toilets


Toilet paper always comes to the rescue…even in a fashion emergency.

Like today.

Today, I had my annual appointment with the eye doctor. He has curly blonde hair and stunning blue eyes, and looks like he’s 12. Naturally, I want to make an effort to NOT look like I just rolled out of bed on my day off, so I took some time to look my best. I took time to wash the crust from my eyelashes and to brush my teeth. I touched up the curls leftover from yesterday braided updo and slathered on a liberal amount of antiperspirant. Finally, I carefully chose nice but modest clothing that flattered my figure: black pants, brown boots, red knit top. I’m not a creep…I just want to look better than this!

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Photo courtesy of http://images.wisegeek.com

I arrived early for my appointment, slipped off my coat and sat down. As I sat down, I folded my coat in front of me and glanced down at my lap. And froze. I was staring at my own belly button.

You see, my top…my beautiful red knit top, has a band of battenburg lace running in a 2″ vertical stripe down the front…and I had forgotten to put on a camisole. My eyes swept upwards from my stark, lily white stomach to my flesh-coloured bra with…gasp…my ample bosom spilling out the top toward a perfect “y” – my cleavage. I clutched my coat to my chest, feeling a warmth spreading up my neck and engulfing my cheeks in flames.

I started to panic. I didn’t have a scarf. Could I borrow one from the receptionist? No, she wasn’t wearing one either. Wear my coat the whole time? No, I was already melting into my plastic seat. Then the assistant called my name and my heart leaped into my chest.

Problems are like toilet paper. You pull on one and ten more come. – Woody Allen

“Maybe”, I reasoned, “maybe it’s not as obvious as I think it is”. So I followed  the assistant into the other room for the initial tests. Once seated and facing a mirror, I realized it wasn’t as bad as I thought. It was worse. Much worse! All I wanted to do was look nice for my appointment with the nice young doctor, not pimp myself out like a cougar!

I fled from the little room to the bathroom, so I could hyperventilate in private. Since I was already there, I decided I might as well use the facilities before I confessed my fashion faux pas and clutched my Harry Potter book to my chest for the next hour.

And then I looked up…Toilet paper! If I could stretch one strip of toilet paper across my cleavage, secured by my bra cups…and if I could then stretch a long strip down the vertical stripe, and secure it between my bra and my pants, would it provide sufficient coverage to reinstate my dignity?

Yes! Yes it can! And that my friends, is how I roll!

Make your life be like toilet paper. Long and useful.
– Wolfgang Riebe, 100 Quotes to Make You Think

Weekly Photo Challenge: Oops!

14 Monday Dec 2015

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Photography

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Tags

embarrassing moments, humour, Photo Challenge, photography, Weekly Photo Challenge


This week’s challenge was to share an “oops” – to collectively out our less-flattering sides (or photos) in plain sight. Obviously the WordPress challengers have never read my blog…every post is laced with stories of disasters and “oops”!

When a teenager, I went through a phase when I enjoyed building model cars and vintage war planes. One evening, frustrated beyond belief and dealing with a situation beyond my years, I threw a plastic bottle against the wall. It bounced…and destroyed my car. Hours of work of delicate brushwork destroyed in a second.

I kept this car for over 20 years, tucked neatly in the back of the closet. Everyone now and then I’d find it and it would remind me just how destructive a moment of anger can be…

DSC_0954 (800x533)

“Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.” – Kurt Vonnegut

To see more “Oops”, click here.

Father-Daughter Shopping

10 Friday Jul 2015

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Dad, embarrassing moments, family, Father, fathers and daughters, humour, memories, parent


“The father of a daughter is nothing but a high-class hostage.” – Garrison Keillor

Warning: The following post may cause men with women in their lives (be it mother, sister, spouse or significant other) to have a flashback to their own experience in this department, and spontaneously curl up in a ball and rock. Reader discretion is advised.

– – –

It shouldn’t have been all that embarrassing, but as a teen, I still remember that it was…shopping with my Dad in not just any aisle. We were at the grocery store picking up a few things for my Mom, and he had followed me to the “pad wall”. You know the area in the grocery store that I’m talking about – The wall of brightly coloured bags and boxes with pretty flowers and symbol coded maxi pads, mini pads, tampons and panty liners. The aisle where few men dare to tread, and those who do look dazed and confused. This was before the advent of cell phones, where men just slowly scan the aisle with their phone directly in front of their eyes, waiting for their wife/girlfriend/significant other to yell “that one – in the green box with the dancing pandas”! As if those pandas have anything to dance about! I don’t blame men for wanting to avoid this aisle – I want to avoid this aisle! I think we can all agree that the options are overwhelming… What sane woman wants to give a monthly misery so much of her precious time and rapidly aging brain cells? Do advertisers really think that little pink rosebuds or unicorns sliding down rainbows somehow makes this better? But I digress…

And yet, there I was…standing in front of the colourful, formidable “pad wall”…with my Dad glued to my side. The overhead lights seemed to get a little brighter and the aisle a little longer. I prayed silently that no one I knew would see me standing there. I was sure that my Dad was just as uncomfortable, as we both shifted our weight to the other foot. I scanned that looming fortress wall looking for the blue package with the Sun symbol on it. And when I spotted it, I was aghast to see that my brand, my little frickin’ ray of sunshine, was on the top shelf, well above my 5’ ½” frame (the ½” is important).

“Ah, Dad?” I asked, staring straight at my Mary Jane’s. “Could you please pass me that one”, still staring at the floor and pointing up.

He gallantly reached up and passed me a pink box with daisies. “Um…” I could feel the heat rising in my face and sweat stains spreading under my arms and down my back. It was time to make a decision time: Man up and ask for the blue one with the little yellow sun, or suck it up, say thanks and face the next embarrassing step in bringing home the sundries.

I manned up, thanked him, and headed to the cashier to check out. My face was still flaming and my vision narrowing as my eyes bored a hole in the scuffed linoleum floor tiles. To this day, I’m amazed that I didn’t spontaneously combust right there on the spot. I might have thought to pray for it to happen if I hadn’t lost my ability to string together two or more words.

The car ride home was very quiet. I don’t know if my Dad was embarrassed or if he even gave it any thought. Some Dads, seeing the deteriorating condition of their daughters, might have taken the opportunity to juggle a few pink boxes, or loudly ask her if she preferred the rainbow pony to the dancing panda bear, or the wild rainforest over the field of dreams scented box. But my Dad was (and always is) a gentleman…even when facing a giant “pad wall”.

“It is admirable for a man to take his son fishing, but there is a special place in heaven for the father who takes his daughter shopping.” – John Sinor

– – –

This post was prompted by Evil Squirrel’s Nestrecent Friday post, Unadventure Time, wherein he regaled us with a story from his own history in retail. The term “pad wall” caused me to have my own flashback (complete with fetal position and rocking), and now I’ve shared it with you. Don’t you feel special?

Happy Weekend!

Just Like Family

20 Monday Apr 2015

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

bathrooms, embarrassing moments, humour, work humour


As soon as you close the bathroom door, someone needs your attention. It’s as inevitable as your toast landing butter-side down or stepping on the only pile of doggie-doo in a 5 mile radius. If you’re a parent, it’s your kids. If you’re married, it’s your spouse. And if you’re at work…?

I work in a church office. You’d think that the bathroom would be a safe (and sacred) place. But not always.

It has only happened once and it was a few months ago, but the memory has lingered…There I was, securely settled for a few moments of peace and quiet, (with my pants around my ankles), when I heard a male voice calling my name.

“Jenn?”

I froze, hardly daring even to breathe. While I was safely tucked into the cubicle, the main door to the bathroom was open and the light was on…but the light in the hallway was off. If he came around the corner, he would know where I was… and what I was doing…

And then he called again, but his voice was louder. What do I do? Do I respond or do I stand on the seat and hope he doesn’t check under the door (like I did in Grade 7 when I didn’t want to go outside for recess)?

I only had seconds to decide. I could hear footsteps coming down the hallway. So I yelled back, “Just a minute” and scrambled to put myself back together. Then I flushed…By then, who was I kidding? He knew where I was the minute he turned the corner and yelled a second time. I exited the room with as much grace as I could muster, and with a sweet smile on my face (hiding my horror and humiliation) asked him, “What can I do for you?” He was just letting me know he was stepping out for a few minutes to get something to eat… (that all-important message couldn’t wait another 30 seconds?)

I know that while it was explained to me that working in a church can sometimes mean I’m treated more as “family” than an “employee”, this just felt a little too much like family! J

Imagine my surprise when, Friday morning, as I settled in (with the room and stall doors firmly closed), when in walked 2 work men, oblivious to the fact that I was there. This time I embarrassed them! They apologized profusely, so with a toss of my head, as I left the room, I told them not to worry – we’re like a family here!

Confession #8: My First Car “Accident”

30 Monday Mar 2015

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Family, Foolishness

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

confession, driving, embarrassing moments, family, food, humiliation, humour


Last week, CoachDaddy posted a list of Things We’ve Done With Our Brains Switched Off. It spawned this terrible memory…Cue music please…

It was Fall – 1990-something. There was a chill in the air and the leaves were an array of golden hues that could take your breath away on a sunny day. My Mom decided I was ready to go solo! I had had my driver’s license only a short time. I had been studious in class, attentive during my driving lessons, and passed my driving exam with flying colours (as well as enduring the prolonged agony of an eternity in an empty parking lot with my Dad!) I was born to drive…and we needed milk!

First, I dropped Mom at the church so she could practice. Big Guy, who was around 9 months old, was safely strapped in the back seat and completely oblivious to this monumental moment in history. I took a deep breath, signalled my intent to merge into traffic, checked my blind spot, and headed out! I was going to our local convenience store to buy milk! I was driving “solo”!

The drive to the store was uneventful. I stopped at the wonky 5 street intersection, and breezed through the one stoplight on the way (it was green). I expertly snaked my way through the “s” curve under the railroad bridge, and I parked in front of the store. I proudly walked into the store with Big Guy on one hip and the keys swinging in my left hand.

I bought the milk…the usual 4L bag of 2%!

After I buckled Big Guy back in his seat in the back and had climbed into the driver’s seat, I took a few seconds to let the big stupid grin on my face subside before I headed home. My small town life was on the cusp of expanding.

I put the car in reverse, checked out my surroundings, and back out of the space. And then I heard it. A loud Bang! A single Pop! Something was horribly wrong! I slammed on the brakes and frantically looked around me to see if I could discern the source of this sound! And then I noticed him…

The snot-nosed face of a little kid in the back window of the car next to me, his hand splayed across the glass as he laughed hysterically and pointed at me with his other hand. I thought he was going to wet his pants, so exaggerated were his great guffaws. And then I looked at what he was pointing at next. A plastic milk bag in a heap, with a white stain spreading slowly across the pavement…

I had killed it! I had killed…the milk bag!

I had set the bag on the ground next to the back tire so I could hoist Big Guy into his car seat, and in the joy of the moment, I had forgotten it there.

I fled the scene of the accident!

I went home and sobbed my sad story to my Dad, who mercifully agreed to go to the store to buy more milk. I never asked him if he laughed all the way there, and I never checked to see if his seat was wet when he got home.

And I can’t remember if I was ever asked to go for milk again…

Thus ends my tragic tale.

The Play: An Embarrassing Moment

19 Thursday Sep 2013

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

embarrassing moments, humour, memories, school


I always make it a point to let someone know when they have toilet paper stuck to their shoe, or something green and leafy stuck in their teeth. This is why…

Travel back with me to a warm Friday night in June in 1991. It was the first of 3 performances by the Drama Club at the high school. I was so traumatized that I can’t even tell you the name of the play. In just a few short weeks, I would be kissing this school good-bye forever (ironically, I ended up doing a 4 month college placement in the Guidance Department at school, where I was mistaken for a student and reamed out by a teacher for being in the hallway during exams…but I digress). I was escorting (or being escorted, depending on how you looked at it) my Grandmother to see the play.

The gym had that lingering, pungent smell – BOMASS (body odour & mouldy sweat-socks) and it was increasing as fast as the temperature inside. The gym’s dividing wall had been pulled across to “create” the illusion of 2 rooms. The first room contained coloured burlap-covered dividers with various forms of artwork magically stuck to it. And the second room contained rows of hard wooden chairs lined up in front of the stage, where the faded red velvet curtain hid the jittery actors and anxious set jockeys. My Grandmother started taking art classes at the high school the same year I started Grade 9 (and she continued to take art classes at the high school, every semester, long after I had graduated). Since she had some artwork on display, (or was it that she knew some of the students who had artwork on display), we had to arrive early in order to wander around and properly appreciate the artwork. There were quite a few people also wandering around. I spoke to a few people I knew from some of my classes including one guy and his parents; I had known them for years. Eventually, I dutifully followed my Grandmother into the second room to find a seat near the front of the room (so she could hear better).

We watched the first half of the play and I’m sure it was lovely… During intermission, the lights came on and people started to stand and stretch, some discreetly ducking out to the restrooms. It was when I stood to stretch and the 12 year old behind started to laugh hysterically, tears streaming down his face, that the full depth of my final high school humiliation came to light. All this time…from the time I had left the house, from the time I had walked into the school from the parking lot, from the time I wandered around looking at art…from the time that I stood and talked to Nick and his parents and then – oh the horror, kill me now – walked away from them…to the front of the gym…in full view of everyone…with my cute floral skirt neatly tucked into my pantyhose at the back…

I’ll just leave you with that mental image – Happy Weekend!

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  • Food (291)
  • Foolishness (795)
  • From Friends (14)
  • Photography (652)

Recent Musings

  • What’s In Jacob’s Cup? June 27, 2022
  • Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #25 June 23, 2022
  • What’s In My Cup: Blackberry Burst June 20, 2022
  • Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 24 June 16, 2022
  • Wilderness Wednesday: A Star is Born June 15, 2022

Archives

Blogs I Follow

bushboys world

Photos of my world and other stuff I hope you will enjoy too. Photos taken with Canon PowershotSX70HS Photos can be purchased.

Paul Militaru

Photography Portfolio

Plain and Fancy Girl

Marian Beaman

Blessed Beyond Measure

Tuesdays with Laurie

"Whatever you are not changing, you are choosing." —Laurie Buchanan

Cee's Photo Challenges

Teaching the art of composition for photography.

Ah dad...

I need the funny because they're teenagers now

Wind Kisses

PIRAN CAFÉ

Ned's Blog

Humor at the Speed of Life

www.kismaslife.com/

tybeetabby

Come and enjoy the beach with me!

Sylvain LANDRY

Photographe Reims France

The Mottled Macaroon

Brought to you by caffeine and wishful thinking...

The Girl Who Clicked

Exploring my passion for photography one click at a time!

The Daily Post

The Art and Craft of Blogging

Evil Squirrel's Nest

Where all the cool squirrels hang out!

Travelling Crone

Woman travelling solo through the world and life.

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