Embarrassing moments: part two

I figured that since I didn’t do very many on Tuesday I would continue this theme to Thursday. If you know me personally you probably know these stories already. Sorry for the repeat, but for everyone else, enjoy. I’m only doing one photo today since my stories are sort of long.

 

Embarrassing photo:

wendy mixed
Me with my two completely normal cousins.

 

Look at that perm! That stupid face that almost seems like I’m high! Almost diverts your attention from that ugly ass sweatshirt I’m wearing. Almost. You can’t make it out, but I have a koolaid stache. Yeah, I was one of those kids. I’ve said it many times before, but I was a gorgeous child. GORGEOUS. I illuminated the world with my overbite smile.

This photo has my cousins so that everyone can see for themselves just what we’re dealing with here. Normal children smile like civilized people. They don’t do whatever it is I’m doing in this picture. I was trying to give my much taller cousin William rabbit ears. It was my attempt was unsuccessful  as the ears were nowhere near his head. At all. My tiny adorable cousin Eric was safe from me on the other side of his older brother. Way to take one for the team William.

 

Embarrassing Story #1:

I was in the grocery store with the kids. We had a basket, laden with food and sundries. Reading between the lines:

I hadn’t shopped in two weeks and my husband’s socks were in danger of being used as a toilet paper replacement in the near future.

As I strolled down the aisle I saw what I assumed was a friend of mine in the distance and waved. Okay, I need you to understand what kind of waving I’m talking about here. Not the miss America polite wave, or the timid “please don’t stonewall me” finger flutter. This was the full on, total body convulsing that you only save for people  you know really well and have no problems looking stupid for. We are talking full stadium wave like people do during sporting events. You know, the kind of wave you reserve for people you know won’t leave you hanging in the “do we or don’t we acknowledge each other” dance we all do in public.

Here I am, full body waving and my friend looks confused. I’m thinking what the hell, friend? Wave back you ungrateful bitch.  I get closer and realize too late that this is NOT my bro, but a complete and total stranger. A total stranger who was almost turning circles trying to figure out who I was flailing at. Of course, in my panic I continued to wave. I mean, I still had a few feet before I was actually face to face with this person. How often do you get a chance to embarrass yourself completely and lose all sense of what it’s like to be a human being? There is a sort of freedom in having nothing to lose.  One of my New Year’s resolutions this year was to go outside of my comfort zone. I couldn’t possibly let this chance go by me without savoring it. Mmm, so much savoring.

I hate myself sometimes.

Then Thomas chimes in just as I’m almost consumed by all the self loathing by asking “mom, do you know that lady?”

I had spiraled so far down the shame hole that I was incapable of anything above a whisper and hissed “NO, I have no idea who that is!”

Swiveling to face me, Molly quipped in a monotone voice, “then why are you waving at her”?

Why indeed you little traitor? Obviously, I’m reveling in this moment of unparalleled dread and humiliation. Duh.

As this soon-to-be new acquaintance got closer I had a clear decision to make. I could be an adult and stop waving, smile, and admit my mistake. OR, I could pretend like it never happened. It wasn’t a choice really. Screw maturity. I scraped up what little bit of self esteem I could and, in an ever so natural looking way, pretended like my eyes were following an imaginary friend as if they had quickly gone down another aisle and slowly put my hand down. Of course I wouldn’t still be waving if “my friend” that so clearly wasn’t this stranger, had walked down an aisle without seeing me. I mean, with all that flailing I had done that was totally possible. I pantomimed the desire to follow my friend and smooth sailed like a villain passed the confused stranger like I had never made direct eye contact with her. She must have been mistaken. I was so clearly chasing my phantom friend down. I was full of purpose. I was a concerned friend. I gave my make believe friend a great back story too. It was dramatic and she needed me. Why else would she dramatically turn down an aisle so fast no one else in the store saw her?

I zoomed down an aisle and stood still until I was sure my ruse had worked. No one came back to accuse me of giving everyone in the store second hand embarrassment so….SCORE! I was the best actor on the planet. My method acting game was just too strong for that store. I deserved an Oscar. A fucking Oscar. Before I got too far ahead of myself both children began questioning why we went down an aisle we’d already visited, and just what happened to that friend?

I did a little razzle dazzle, mentioned candy, and got out of that store as quickly as possible.

Embarrassing Story #2:

One time when I was dropping my daughter off at Montessori school, and I took her into the building. She was tiny and wanted me to walk her to the lunch room. When I came out I got in my car and went to stick my keys in the ignition only to discover there were already keys in the ignition, and the car was running…and I was in someone else’s car entirely. For the first time since I sat down, I looked around and realized that this was a plush Lincoln town car. I drove a Nissan Xterra at the time. How I thought it was my car is still a mystery.

Very quickly understanding that if the owner of this car came out and saw me sitting in the driver’s seat they would assume I was doing burglary. NOT just being an idiot. Which I was. I was frozen in place for a full three seconds with my hands in the air trying to not get my finger prints on anything. Then I jumped out and crawled along the ground as quickly as panic would move my body back to my car, which was parked directly behind this car.

I’m not saying it was their fault, but I was the only one in the parking lot when I took my daughter into the building. So, you know if that doesn’t say whose fault it was then I don’t know what else to say. Yes, I realize it was my fault for being too stupid to not get into a Lincoln town car instead of my own car which was up off the ground while the Lincoln town car basically scrapes along the ground. Don’t even get me started on those seats either. I felt like I was sitting on pillows. I would have taken a nap if I wasn’t about to catch a case for robbery.

Well, that was fun. I have so many more stories and enough horrible photos to fill a dumpster. Maybe I’ll do this again. Who knows.

I apologize…sometimes.

 My husband and I have a good relationship.

That is a stand alone statement. We do. We love each other very much, and we have a specific way of dealing with things when we are angry with each other. We call each other stupid names and try to make each other laugh. Why? Because we hate to fucking be mad at each other, duh.

But I have a confession to make. I hate to apologize. Hate it with every fiber of my being. I will apologize to children and the elderly with no problem. Probably because children are so adorable, and the elderly will die soon and no one will know that I apologized. It’s just so hard to apologize to other adults. Even when It is very clear that I am wrong. I have to work up to it. Do some light eating and a little stretching. A small part of me floats away to Jesus when I have to say I’m sorry to anyone. Especially if they are a gloater. Nothing will get you marked off my friendship bracelet list faster than being a damn gloater after I have apologized.

I understand that this is a serious character flaw, and I’m not proud of it. I mean, I do it…eventually. It’s just, I don’t do it willingly or immediately. That’s probably when most people would like their apologies.

This year, I have decided to change my behavior, and  an opportunity presented itself when I made a complete asshole out of myself. I know, shocking!

My car has three different handles on the side of the driver’s chair that work the seat position. I have always assumed that one specific handle worked the recline function. Some people like to lay down when they drive. I like to sit straight up, at attention just in case someone tries to attack me. Always vigilant. Always prepared.

Well, my seat was not in the proper position when I got in it after my husband drove it, and the handle that I assumed controlled this function was not working when I tried to put it in “bitch, this ain’t a drill” position. I’m also blessed with a surprising lack of patience.

I’m such a catch.

I sent my husband a snarky text about how the seat was basically laying down and the handle was broken, so I couldn’t change the position. His reply to my sass was calm and sedate as he stated he would show me how to work it when I got back to the house. I flounced around like the angry toddler that I was and flung myself in the car and drove home. Sure that he was going to be wrong. He magically put my car in position while I was putting things away. I came back outside. Didn’t say thank you, and got in it. I had to leave again.

This time the seat was actually leaning forward, and I was so pissed that I pulled over and was trying to fix it while a stream of swear words tore from my lips. I called him. My call was full of accusations of breaking the handle on my seat and knowingly adjusting my seat too far forward…and also being made completely of cat turds.

That got his attention. Not the cat turd comment, but the totally baseless accusation and total lack of appreciation for him moving my seat. Even though it was in the wrong position. Wrong. He was mad. My husband doesn’t normally get mad at me. When he does it’s usually because I’m going out of my way to be an asshole. Like, what we are now referring to as the driver’s seat debacle of 2016.

I get home and he comes outside. I’m angry and he is angry. I have accused him of breaking the handle on my seat with his stupid cat turd hands and he says I’m too stupid to use my car, and will prove it. We open the door of my car, I step aside, and he bends down.

As he does, I’m thinking how awesome it’s gonna be when he has to say he’s sorry for breaking the handle with his stupid sausage hands. All of that smugness vanishes as I see him grab a completely different fucking handle and sarcastically recline my seat all the way back and then sassily lean it all the way forward. Then he turned and looked me dead in the eye, and he knew it and I knew it.

I had been using the wrong fucking handle the whole damn time.

With a smile on his face, I could feel the “I won” radiating from his body. Mine however was oozing the stink of shame as we walked back inside. I was gonna have to do it. I didn’t want to, but I had no other choice. I was wrong and had behaved badly all evening. A huge portion of me wanted to feign diarrhea and just run to the bathroom and stay there all night, but he wasn’t expecting an apology. That was worse. He was expecting me to pretend I had diarrhea or pretend it didn’t happen and just walk back into the house.

I took a deep breath, and apologized. Then I hugged him. He froze. Probably wondering if I had a weapon to stab him in a murder/suicide type scenario. After realizing he was in no danger of being stabbed to death in a crime of apology shame his body relaxed. It would have been the perfect time to stab him if I was going to murder/suicide due to apology shame, but it was fine. He had accepted my sorry.

Then he made fun of me. Exactly like I would do to him if he had made such a stupid mistake.

I still may not be as good of a person as my sister, but I’m trying.

I’m also thinking about labeling the handles on my seat.