Showing posts with label swimming. Show all posts
Showing posts with label swimming. Show all posts

Monday, July 14, 2008

My most embarrassing moments

(Please note: I've shared these before online, many years ago, so for some old timers amongst my internet friends these may just ring a bell. It has been a while, though, so I'm resurrecting them for my blog now, where they really belong anyhow. 'Twas Skeeter that made me think back on the old days of Oh My and go digging through to dust these off and share...)

So, I have two Most Embarrassing Moments (that occurred in my adult life anyhow) that I thought I'd share. I figure this way, no one will get the wrong idea about me and think I'm some graceful, delicate flower or posh, genteel lady. Oh, no. Not me. Without further ado, my top two most embarrassing moments - that happened in public, of course - upon which I have no one to blame but myself. (There are several moments of public embarrassment in which the kiddo had a featured role, but we'll save those for another day.)

Most Embarrassing Moment the First:
This one happened at work, which makes it even better - or worse, depending on your point of view. I had recently been promoted to director of my department at work. I was the youngest senior manager in my agency, at the tender age of 27, and I was keen to show that I was a mature, professional adult who was eminently capable of handing the responsibility. A few weeks into my new position, it fell upon me to lead a meeting involving a group of bigwigs from various other area nonprofit agencies. They were all much older and much bigger cheeses than I, and my agency's executive director was impressed yet slightly dubious as she saw Big Cheese after Big Cheese trooping in to our building and up the stairs to the conference room for my meeting. She almost couldn't believe that a pipsqueak such as me would be in a meeting with the likes of them, much less running said meeting.

So, all the Cheeses are now assembled along the big, long table in the conference room. Being a nonprofit agency, we had a tight (read: nonexistent) budget, and thusly we had a lack of comfy meeting room chairs, so I'd had to pull out some old, metal folding chairs to make up the difference. Being a proper hostess, I was sitting in one of those uncomfy, metal chairs. Swallowing my nervousness and putting on my most professional, bravest face, I called the meeting to order. A few moments into my opening remarks, with the room silent and all eyes focused on me, things seemed to be going well. I was doing it! They were paying attention and seemed impressed by what I was saying! I was coming off as intelligent, witty, charming and funny. Just as I started warming to my spiel, I turned to my left in the midst of illustrating a point. At this exact time, without any warning, my body turned against me. BRAAAAAAAAAAAMP! Either someone had suddenly blown a trumpet or my posterior had decided to pipe up with a very unsolicited comment. The noise actually reverberated off the metal chair and echoed throughout the room. I froze momentarily in that "WHAT THE @#$#@ DO I DO NOW?" panic - do I say "excuse me" and make some pithy remark about eating Mexican food for breakfast? Do I look accusingly at the gentleman seated to my immediate left? Ultimately, I opted to continue talking and pretend I hadn't just let one rip. I could tell from the looks on the assembled faces that everyone had heard the toot (as my kiddo calls them) and everyone knew exactly who had done the tooting. As it happens, I'm an easy blusher, and I felt my face flushing more and more red while I bravely soldiered on... the meeting had at least an hour to go before I could escape to the privacy of my own office.

Now, you might think that farting obviously in public is embarrassing enough, but that wasn't the end of it. You see, I am one of those people that cannot help but have a massive giggle fit if I ever pass gas in public. Like, I'll be in the car with Hubby and if I have to, ahem, toot, even if he didn't notice, I will bust out laughing, and the harder I try to stop giggling, the worse it gets. Of course in those situations I'll excuse myself and own up to it... (And isn't having a kid in the house the biggest Fartometer ever anyhow? She has Gas Radar that detects any emission from anyone's rear end, anywhere - and she ALWAYS calls the gas passer on it, regardless if they are family, friend or stranger. But that goes to the most embarrassing Kiddo-Mommy moment genre, so it is for another time.) Back to my meeting of the big cheeses... after I wound up my opening remarks, I turned the meeting over to the person in charge of giving the next report, and sat there, desperately willing my skin to turn back from its present shade of tomato red to its usual underbelly-of-a-dead-fish white. The more I concentrated on trying to stop blushing (yeah, I'd long since given up on paying attention to the meeting), the more I had the uncontrollable urge to giggle. I finally tried to fake-cough giggle. It came out like kind of a snort-gasp-cough-laugh, and I then pretended I had something stuck in my throat and excused myself to go get some water. Doubtless they were all wondering if I was really leaving to pass more gas... I ran downstairs to my office, where my coworkers looked at me with alarm. I collapsed in my chair giggling like a fiend, finally managing to regain my composure and go back to the conference room. I made it through the rest of the meeting, though it was all I could do to keep from bursting into laughter because every few seconds the memory of that sound crossed my mind and I'd feel myself start to giggle again. Quite the mature, professional Big Cheese in Training, wasn't I?

My Most Embarrassing Moment the Second did not take place at work, but it did involve public nudity... It was the summer of '94. Hubby, then just my fiance, and I were at the home of one of our friends' parents for a family graduation party (as opposed to a drunken kegger, though this party had a few elements of that as well). Well, this family had a pool. I've always had
swimsuit issues, even back in those days when I was much closer to a size 10 (and yes, I'd kill to have that body, which at the time I thought was pathetic and fat, back today). My poison of choice when necessary in those days was a one piece bathing suit that had a removable strap that looped from above one boob around the back of the neck and hooked on above the other boob. I'd bought this suit five years earlier when I was about to spend a weekend with my girlfriends attempting to get a tan down the Jersey shore before the senior prom and I didn't want any icky tan lines to show above my to-die-for, late-80s strapless prom dress. (Yes, this was a bathing suit that I'd bought in high school, and now was wearing after college was over, but that fashion don't isn't nearly the worst of it.) Anyhow, we're at the party. I'm not drinking, so I can't blame this one on alcohol, just bad judgement. I allow myself to be convinced by Hubby and our friends to change into my swimsuit and join the crowd in the pool. I changed and made a beeline for the pool, the theory being that if I was mostly submerged in water, people wouldn't say "Oh man, look at that!" and run shrieking in terror from the sight. Bam - I jump in the deep end. When I surface, I feel my suit (I had long since misplaced the strap) slide down a wee bit. I surreptitiously tug it up, no harm, no foul. That should've warned me, but it didn't... I make my way over to the shallower end of the pool where a bunch of my friends are tossing a Nerf football around. Trying to show that I'm not a girly girl (why was that important? Dunno but it seemed vital at the time, probably because it was in front of Hubby and his friends), I joined the game. One of our friends tosses me a pass. It went over my head and I jumped for it. As I went up, my suit went down, but I didn't realize it. I landed underwater and POPPED back up, shouting some witticism about his throw, when I notice that the graduate's grandparents, who are seated poolside, are staring at me in absolute horror. A hush fell over the crowd. I looked down, and noticed at this point that my bathing suit is down around my belly, a good several inches below my now exposed for Grammy and Grampa to see boobs, not to mention Hubby, our friends and at least one video camera. Eep! I immediately ducked under the water and YANKED the suit back up over my offending mammaries. Now, at this point I'm sure any self-respecting chick would've fled the pool area for the shelter of the locked bathroom and some adequately covering clothes, but not me. I was grimly determined to not show my embarrassment, so I grabbed the football, which was bobbing near my Cleavage of Doom in the water, and tossed it back to the guy who'd thrown it to me. He was still in such shock that he allowed the ball to whack him square in the head. (I cannot throw a football to save my life.) I stuck it out for another few minutes before making what I deemed to be a graceful and dignified exit from the pool, citing the fact that I was getting cold as my ONLY reason for going inside to change. People did look a bit scared that my boobs might make another unbilled cameo, so there was a general sigh of relief when I went inside.

To make the above tale more poignant, this same suit offended me in the same, exact way four years prior to the fateful graduation party, while I was Spring Breaking with a friend in Cancun. That time, we were at the hotel pool at around 10 in the morning, so it wasn't terribly crowded (other spring breakers were apparently still inside sleeping off the night before). I ducked under the water to cool off and came back up with my boobs a'blazing, but other than my friend and some hotel workers who were washing windows, no one really noticed. So, you think I would've learned my lesson... Probably a good thing for me that Hubby was there that day and has since ensured that I never, ever bought a strapless suit again. (And I haven't owned a strapless suit from then to this day...)

So, there you have it. My most embarrassing moments. Anyone care to join me and share your own? I promise, I won't laugh, even if they involve gas or nudity. (Okay, I probably will laugh, but you won't hear me, and I swear it would be with you and not at you...)

Thursday, April 24, 2008

I? Am an eeeediot, with a capital EEEEEE.

Seriously, I'm losing whatever few remaining marbles I once had rolling about the vast cavern of my noggin...

The latest YMCA session brochure came in the mail a few weeks ago. We've been planning to sign the kiddo up for swimming lessons again for the summer, so I figured I'd start with the Spring II session that goes through June as well as the June-August summer session. (The kiddo is seriously part fish, and has adored swimming lessons since we first started taking her, back when she was two and a mere "Shrimp-Kipper" in the pool with Mommy or Daddy. At the end of last summer, she passed the test to move up from "Pike" to "Eel" which is when the kids are in the deep end of the big, cold pool, instead of in the shallow, warm-water instructional pool. The Big Time! Oh, and also thankfully well beyond the "parent in the pool" level as well, woot woot!) I procrastinated, as is my style, on doing the registration (which could be done many ways - online, over the phone, by mail.....) until the other day when I was at the Y to work out and therefore had to be at the front desk anyway to check in, so I finally got around to it, since after all classes started for the new session this week. Yes, I patted myself heartily on the back for finally getting her registered on Monday for the class starting this afternoon. Talked up the whole swimming lesson thing to the kiddo all week, getting her even MORE psyched than she already was about the recommencement of swimming for the season. Today was an agonizing trial of patience for her, since school lets out at 11:30 but swimming doesn't start until 4. I tried to fill the time up with various tasks and errands that had to be done anyhow, thinking it would help time pass - things that she usually enjoys, even, like the post office and the drive-thru teller lane at the bank (y'know, where the cannister shoooooops up the tube and into the little banking outpost office like magic...). She got progressively more grumpy that it wasn't yet time for swimming with every passing millisecond. It was on the verge of getting ugly. She had her (brand new, chosen by the kiddo herself from the Land's End catalog and delivered to her by the UPS dude last week) bathing suit on by 2:30 and everything.

FINALLY it was time to head over to the Y. She was literally BOUNCING with glee at the impending swimming lesson - a bundle of pure excitement and joy. She didn't even complain about the pre-pool shower (which in a few weeks I'm sure will revert to its previous PITA status and become once again the thing I try to avoid if the lifeguards aren't paying attention) and was sitting poolside with the other kids with a few minutes to spare 'til 4pm.

I say hello (being the "talk to anyone" sort that I am) to the other mothers who are sitting on the bench opposite from where the kids are sitting, and catch an odd look or two in response. Well, I'd be lying if I said that catching odd looks from folks was an unusual occurrence for me - alas, it isn't. I usually chalk up this particular level of look as a "wow, this total stranger sure is chatty" type and don't really give it another thought. (As opposed to a serious Hairy Eyeball look, which is just one reason why another of my things is a total phobia of being out in public with my fly inadvertently open, and why I therefore typically safety-pin my zippers to the back of the button placket on any pants/jeans/shorts I am wearing. Also why I will never eat Oreos in public - they are the one food that invariably encrusts itself between all my teeth in a weird, chocolate grillz sorta way that makes me therefore horribly self-conscious about eating them outside the privacy of my own home/minivan, where floss and/or toothbrushes are handy. But I digress...) I wandered back over to where the kiddo was sitting poolside as the teachers swam up. I'd only intended to introduce the kiddo and explain that she was a brand-new Eel who hadn't taken lessons since the end of last summer, and as such might be a bit rusty on certain things, but as I was launching into this little spiel, I noticed I was getting the same Odd Look from the teacher.

Hmmm. This was a bit puzzling, I mean, after all, she's the teacher, shouldn't she be expecting my officially-registered child? Doesn't she have the list somewhere with the kiddo's name thereon?

Well. Turns out that the class that the kiddo is in starts NEXT week. Today was the final class of the session that's been going on for the past two months.

Damn. I am an eeeeeeediot. I must've looked at the YMCA brochure at least a dozen times in the past few weeks, and I'm telling you that I was absolutely positive it said that this session was starting this week - the 21st. Nope.

The panic that filled my heart must've been showing on my face at this point, because all I was thinking was "Oh holy heck, now I've got to pull the kiddo away from the pool while the other kids hop in the water, strip her of her bubble and haul her out of here and that is no going to be pretty AT ALL" because the oh-so-kind teacher then went on to say "But she can stay for today, that's fine."

Bless that woman. She saved me from what would've been the Meltdown to End All Meltdowns. I made a thousand apologies to her at the end of class, and she graciously said that she totally understood where I could've gotten confused, since normally the sessions are timed with the school calendars, and as Spring Break was last week, it was eminently sensible for one to assume the new session began this week, but for some reason the sessions didn't match up with the calendar just this one time.

Eminently sensible for one who didn't see the lime-green lettering on the brochure on one's kitchen counter that reads "SPRING SESSION II: APRIL 28" across the front in 36 point font, that is...

So, my latest Bad Mommy Moment was averted thanks only to the kind-heartedness of the YMCA swim instructor. The kiddo went on to get right back in the groove and was happily swimming laps (in the big pool!) and jumping in off the side in no time. I think I may bring her flowers next week...