UPDATE: All right, friends. I promised you my story, so here it is.
I grew earlier than most of the kids in my class. Including, most notably, the boys. But also the girls. And that height gave me an advantage when it came to the sport of basketball.
Enough of an advantage, for a couple years, to make up for chubby legs and a painfully slow run. And, oh yeah, my asthma.
But by the time I entered high school, I still had chubby slow legs and an inhaler on hand at all time. But I wasn’t necessarily the tallest girl on the team.
[I know, Smitty. I was never taller than you. But for a while I was one of the tallest girls. And then I wasn’t. But I still loved wearing your size 9 tall jeans in 8th grade. That one time? Remember? Yeah. I loved those jeans.]
Anyway, I played on the freshman basketball team, even though, like my height, my skills had really peaked about two years earlier. Our coach was a mean, mean man. And I didn’t like him much (if you couldn’t tell).
Well, one night we were in a neighboring small town, getting our adolescent butts kicked on the court. I have memories of our coach practically screaming at us at away games; I’m not sure if that happened on this certain night or not. But either way, tensions were running high.
So when I was running my darnedest down the court – behind everyone else, remember, I was slooow – and flat out tripped over my own two feet, I shouldn’t have been surprised when my so-called friends and teammates laughed hysterically.
Picture this: There I was, chubby and wheezing, trying so hard to make it from one end of that court to the other. Trying to be good. (Oh, how I tried.) And somehow, I just tripped over my Nike high tops. Falling FLAT ON MY FACE.
Oh, you know what? That’s not true. First my knees slammed into the floor. Then I fell flat on my face.
Apparently, as legend goes, I tripped near one of the many painted lines on the court. This coincidence, of course, prompted my evil coach to yell – for the whole world (and the boys team) to hear: “Watch out for that line!”
Cue the hysterical laughter. Cue the years of teasing from so-called best friends. Cue the mysterious title of today’s post.
Ah, high school. Bruised knees and a bruised ego. Memories. Glorious memories.
Whose idea was it, anyway, to dredge up these things?!
Right. Right. Well, anyway, that was the last year I played basketball. And that was most definitely one of my most embarrassing moments.
A co-worker and I were discussing how weird it is that a common ice-breaker is to have each person in a newly formed group share his or her most embarrassing moment.
That’s weird, right?
So how about we share ours today? Because we’re not a new group here . . . c’mon! We’re more like family here on this blog!
I promise – if you tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.
Actually, that’s not true. I’m going to tell you my most embarrassing moment no matter what. As soon as I get more time this afternoon. But it sure would be less painful if you shared yours, too . . . I’m just saying!