Whenever people ask the ever-favorite getting-to-know-you question of "What is your most embarrassing moment?", I always feel a slight panic. Not because I'm worried about sharing my most embarrassing moment, but rather I either a) don't embarrass very easily, 2) manage not to embarrass myself often or D) have a terrible memory. I'm pretty sure it's D), but if I had a terrible memory, there would really be no way for me to confirm it with myself. Who knows if the memories I have are accurate or not, right?
Anyway, it finally happened!! Though I had to experience extreme awkwardness, this might be a great story I can try to tuck away for future use. I just need to get it down quick, before I forget!
So, I don't think I've mentioned yet this year (in all 5 posts...) that I'm taking a ballet class at BYU this semester (which might be part of the reason for infrequent posting.) It has been lovely, revealing (not in a good way), guilt-procuring, and also amazing. I've loved it! Love trying to get back in shape. Love having an hour-and-a-half to myself 5 days a week - mid-day even! Love reminiscing vicariously through the other 20-year-olds and reflecting upon how much has changed in the last 10 years for myself...
But it's also made me feel a bit neglectful of my family and my orderly efforts. I get home right when it's time to make dinner and so we've been eating rather poorly since January. It's also annoying to take a shower at night, dry my hair, and have it look nice all of 1 hour until I go to bed. I want to wear a sign around my neck when I drop my son off to preschool that says, "Yes, I promise I have showered within the last 12 hours. You don't like the crazy hair? Deal with it!" It's also much easier to stay in my "comfy" clothes all day.
and that makes me feel like a slob.
So, though it's been a fantastic blast from the past of sorts, I'm ready to get back to my old schedule, come April, and maybe try to do a mini-barre routine in my laundry room before the kids wake up, to keep the fun alive.
Anyway, back to engraving embarrassing stories of myself on the interwebs...
We've been having fabulously warm weather for this time of year, and I thought it might be fun to ride a bike to ballet.
Now, there are many intricacies to riding a bike to BYU from where I live. But I will demystify it for anyone who may need to ride a bike to BYU from my house. ;)
It is not a particularly bike-friendly journey. There are sidewalks, but I feel a bit like a jerk riding on them now that I'm no longer 8-years-old. Sidewalks are for pedestrians. However, there is also no shoulder for a majority of the ride; I also don't want to be one of those bicyclists I curse for having to go around because though they think they are hugging the curb as much as possible, I know if I stay in that lane, they will hit a rock at just the right angle, at just the right moment, and I will instantly regret not having switched lanes. On the other hand, the sidewalks on the side headed toward BYU are also so horribly pockmarked that I think I may fare better chancing the rocks and the cars to the over-the-handlebar-inducing potholes and ravine-like cracks in the sidewalk... Luckily, I discovered that on the wrong side of the street for traveling to BYU, the side-walk becomes double-wide! Which I choose to infer means it is okay to ride on, regardless of direction of travel, since there is room to pass.
Is this making any sense at all?
The point of that was, I ride on a sidewalk. where pedestrians go. m-kay?
So. I was on my way home (which is actually uphill, the whole way) and we had just learned a particularly killer plié, two days ago, which means my thighs were not only sore from the day before, but also tired from the immediately preceding class, and now barely able to pedal myself uphill. (are those excuses enough for you?) So, I'm plodding along, on my bike, on the double-sidewalk, at a very (necessarily) leisurely pace.
Then the awkwardness ensues...
There is a boy. In front of me. Jogging. Jogging at the perfect pace so that my current biking pace is only very slightly faster than he is going. Which means, he notices my creepy shadow very very very slowly approaching his own. I could see something needed to happen. Either I needed to buck up and pick up the pace to pass him quickly (as a biker should do to a jogger) or I needed to think up something witty to say to make this awkward moment a forgettable moment.
Unfortunately, the second option sounded better to my thighs and made this potentially forgettable moment, a moment I will never forget.
So I finally get to the position where I am awkwardly riding right next to Jogger-Boy and since it looked as if we could be having a conversation, I figured it would be the time to mention said comment.
I don't really remember what I said now... something like, "you're so fast I can't even pass you on my bike!" (which isn't witty at all...)
And then I notice, he has earbuds in. Doh!
(this is the worst part...)
He takes them out and says, "What?"
Now, I have issues. If you're still reading my blog, you've noticed, I'm sure. But this next one I'm about to reveal... I'm not a repeater. I just can't do it! If someone doesn't catch a punch-line (however lame it is) I just cannot repeat it. The moment is gone. You had to be there. It loses its authenticity. The effect can not be recreated. It's over.
Side note to the side note:
And this is why I think I may not ever be able to be a good high school teacher.... My first class would (in my imaginings) think, "Oh that Mrs. McCarthy... she is so funny! Who knew math could be so fun?!" and then everyone else would think I'm completely boring and lame because I couldn't bring myself to repeat the witty things I thought to relate in earlier classes. But I digress...
"What?" he asks?
Mortified by the increased discomfort of the situation, the gall I had to interrupt his music, and the pressure to now say something new, witty, and unplanned..
and then he looks at me like, "was that supposed to be a pick-up line?"
Suddenly, the pain in my thighs was no match for the pain of my embarrassment and I rode off like a school-girl who, during the famous 1st-day-of-school-McDonald's-hot-lunch, got squirted with ketchup by a careless crush.
(yes. that also happened to me. and he laughed when it happened.)
I prayed so hard that the corner red light would turn green so I could cross the street and out of his life forever, before Jog-Boy could catch up to me and make me relive the awkwardness. and guess what?
God does answer prayers! :)