Whaddya know–it’s Embarrassing Story Monday again! Funny how they keep rolling around.
Actually, this is only the second Embarrassing Story Monday, so the funny part is really how I keep avoiding them. For the first installment click here, but only if you want to writhe in pain on your seat. The only reason I decided to continue this horrific serial on this particular day is to buy me time as I prepare the 3rd installment of the Erica/Dave wedding saga. It will go up tomorrow, unless I don’t feel well . . . or feel too well to sit in front of my computer . . . or make the unprecedented decision to do some laundry. . . or if my coffee tastes kinda funny. I love setting up excuses a day in advance for myself.
For today, the tale of an innocent young dancer falling prey to a wardrobe malfunction. Oh, it’s a classic alright. I like to call it “1st Grade: The Very Enthusiastic Curtsy”, or “The Day This Dancer Danced Her Last.”
Will you be horrified? Morally appalled? Empathetic? Will you shun my blog forever? Weigh in … and please share or link me to any related stories that come to mind from your own dark pasts. I could use a few laughs/winces/squirms myself as I dive into the week.
I must add that I was blissfully unaware of this event’s existence until a few years ago when I was going through old pictures and suddenly I noticed … well, exactly what you will see in a moment. I’ll add the pictures leading up to it so that you can cringe with me over the earnest expression on that little 6-year-old face.
I hope the internet police aren’t upset about this picture. After all, they are there to safeguard human decency, etc., but I see this more as a Tale of Caution than a gratuitous breech of decency. Plus, it was all taking place within a bubble of innocence, in a land of pinafores, paisley-print dresses with smocking, and turquoise stirrup pants. We were dancing to the likes of “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain When She Comes”…
There I am, 2nd from the left . . .
Biting my lip with pure sincerity . . .
Swing your partner, do-se-do . . .
And there you have it.
I was a girl with zeal, and dang it, if I curtsied I was going to curtsy 100%. I was all in, baby—I was dedicated to the craft. Whatever is happening in this picture—it was happening wholeheartedly.
Oh me oh my. Look at the dress/sneakers combo! The big blue glasses I was so proud of! The skinny legs, the knobby knees! And the Hanes Her Way. I am posting it here so that you can suffer with me on this happy, happy summer morning. Plus, if I post all embarrassing material on myself preemptively, nobody will ever be able to blackmail me! And my friends, freedom from blackmail is freedom indeed.
I will be making further progress in my blackmail-free policy via this blog during the months to come. Beware.
HA! I don’t think that’s a wardrobe malfunction as much as it an “user error.” Not sure we can blame that one on the skirt, Sweetie! Thanks for the giggle!
I did something very similar at a very similar time in my life. I was dressed in a little purple dress with a sheep cut-out on the front of it, for a Christmas pageant or something. I got horrible stage fright and covered my face with my skirt to hide from all the people. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that skirts only hide one thing at a time. Thankfully there are no pictures. ..that I know of.
This happens to every single person at some time in their life. If they deny it, then they’ve suppressed the memory, or else are too embarassed and still in therapy. In my church youth group in high school, I received the “thanks for pulling my dress down in front of the minister” award. (bizarre awards were created each year for each person).