Well, That Was Frickin’ Embarrassing!
There comes a point in life when you realize dignity is not something you permanently possess.
It's more like something you borrow.
You have it for a while. You're walking around feeling reasonably attractive and competent. Your clothes are where they're supposed to be. Nothing is hanging out of your nose. Your bladder is cooperating.
And then you sneeze.
Well, shit.
Welcome to midlife.
Remember When Sneezing Was Just Sneezing?
There was a time when a sneeze required absolutely no preparation.
You felt it coming.
You sneezed.
Someone said, “Bless you.”
Life continued.
Now you feel a sneeze coming and suddenly it's DEFCON 1.
Clench.
Cross the legs.
Brace yourself.
Do NOT sneeze yet.
And God help you if you've been putting off going to the bathroom.
Sneezing isn't the only problem.
Coughing.
Laughing too hard.
Jumping.
Apparently jumping is now a high-risk recreational activity.
Twenty-five-year-old me could jump whenever the hell she wanted.
She didn't have to consider how recently she'd peed.
She didn't have to evaluate whether her pants could handle an emergency.
She didn't have to wonder how far away the nearest bathroom was.
She just jumped.
Lucky bitch.
Why Didn't You Tell Me About the Booger?
There are certain rules of friendship that shouldn't have to be explained.
If there's something hanging out of my nose, YOU TELL ME.
Immediately.
Don't let me finish the story.
Don't wait for a better opportunity.
Don't worry about embarrassing me.
We're already past that point.
Because discovering the booger isn't even the worst part.
It's the investigation afterward.
How long has that been there?
Who have I talked to?
Did I have it at the grocery store?
Was it there when I talked to the neighbor?
Did I have an entire conversation with someone while this thing was waving hello every time I breathed?
You will never know.
And that's what haunts you.
The Spinach Situation
Same rule.
If I have spinach in my teeth, tell me.
Friends don't let friends walk around looking like they've started a vegetable garden between their incisors.
Because again, eventually you find a mirror.
You smile.
And there it is.
A massive green chunk right in front.
Suddenly you're mentally reviewing everyone you've spoken to for the last three hours.
And you're pissed at all of them.
Nobody could give me the universal point-at-your-teeth signal?
Nobody?
I would do it for you.
Apparently My Boobs Are a Shelf Now
Food on your shirt is another one.
I can eat an entire meal thinking I've handled myself beautifully.
Then I stand up and look down.
Apparently half the appetizer came with me.
Crumbs.
Sauce.
Something I don't even remember eating.
My boobs have essentially become a catch basin.
Maybe I should start coordinating my clothes with my meals.
Spaghetti night?
Red shirt.
Mustard?
Yellow.
Red wine?
Burgundy.
Nacho cheese?
Honestly, if there's nacho cheese involved, I'm willing to take my chances.
How Long Has My Fly Been Down?
This may be the official question of embarrassing moments:
**HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN LIKE THAT?**
Your fly is down.
How long?
Your dress is tucked into your underwear.
How long?
There's toilet paper stuck to your shoe.
HOW. LONG?
Nobody ever discovers these things immediately.
You discover them after you've walked around.
Talked to people.
Made eye contact.
Maybe even thought you looked pretty damn good that day.
Then you look down.
Oh.
Fantastic.
At that point, there's nothing to do but fix it and keep moving.
There isn't a Department of Public Embarrassment where you can request surveillance footage and establish exactly when your dignity left the building.
Sometimes you're better off not knowing.
The Glasses Are on Your Head
This one concerns me more than the others.
You can't find your glasses.
You've checked the kitchen.
Bathroom.
Bedroom.
Purse.
You start retracing your steps.
Then you become irritated.
Because you KNOW you put them somewhere.
Someone else must have moved them.
You're approaching the stage where you're about to start questioning family members.
Then someone says:
“They're on your head.”
Oh.
Right.
Obviously.
And now you have two choices.
Admit you just spent ten minutes searching for something physically attached to your body...
or pretend you knew.
“I know. I was looking for my other ones.”
Sure you were.
The Dress Tucked Into the Underwear
There are embarrassing moments.
And then there are **events**.
Walking out of a bathroom with the back of your dress tucked into your underwear qualifies as an event.
You're strolling confidently through the restaurant.
Maybe you've stopped to talk to someone.
Maybe you've crossed the entire room.
Meanwhile, your ass has apparently decided to make a surprise public appearance.
Eventually somebody approaches you.
“Um... Amber?”
That tone.
Nothing good has ever followed that tone.
“Your dress.”
And suddenly you know.
You just know.
There is no graceful recovery.
You pull the dress out, smooth everything down and continue living.
Thank you for attending today's performance.
There will be no encore.
Toilet Paper on the Shoe
This feels like something that should only happen in a sitcom.
Yet somehow it happens in real life.
You're walking through a restaurant with toilet paper trailing behind you like you're the bride at the world's shittiest wedding.
How did it attach itself?
Why can't you feel it?
How long is it?
And again:
WHY DID NOBODY TELL YOU?
I am beginning to think the real theme here isn't embarrassment.
It's that apparently none of us can trust the people around us.
And Then You Trip UP the Stairs
Down the stairs?
Understandable.
Gravity.
Physics.
Danger.
But up?
How do you fall UP?
One second you're walking like a functioning adult.
The next you're on all fours wondering what the hell just happened.
And what's the first thing you do?
Check for injuries?
No.
Look around.
**DID ANYBODY SEE ME?**
If someone did, you immediately blame the stairs.
“Oh! That step...”
Stop it.
There's nothing wrong with the step.
You've used that staircase approximately 4,000 times.
You simply forgot how legs work for a second.
Sometimes I wonder if I've wandered into a Charlie Chaplin movie.
I've got toilet paper stuck to my shoe.
My fly is open.
There's food on my boobs.
My glasses are on my head while I'm searching for them.
I sneeze and pee a little.
Then I trip UP the stairs.
All I need is for a piano to fall on me and we're done.
But Do We Care as Much Anymore?
Here's the part I've been thinking about.
I don't think I've stopped embarrassing myself as I've gotten older.
If anything, my body has introduced several exciting new opportunities.
But I don't think I care quite as much.
When I was younger, I could replay an embarrassing moment for DAYS.
What did they think?
Did everyone see?
Oh my God, I can't believe I did that.
Three nights later I'd be lying in bed and suddenly remember something stupid I'd done in 1997.
Why does the brain do that?
Nobody requested this memory.
Go back to sleep.
Now?
You watched me trip?
Congratulations.
You got a show.
My fly was down?
Shit happens.
I walked around with food on my shirt?
Wouldn't be the first time.
I'm still going to be embarrassed.
I'm just not willing to devote the rest of my week to it.
Maybe that's one of the genuinely good things about getting older.
You start realizing everyone is a little ridiculous.
Everyone has walked around with something in their teeth.
Everyone has said something stupid.
Everyone has waved enthusiastically at someone who wasn't actually waving at them.
Everyone has pushed a door clearly marked PULL.
Everyone has had a moment when their body, brain, clothing or basic coordination betrayed them.
And most people aren't thinking about your embarrassing moment nearly as much as you think they are.
They're too busy worrying about their own.
Well, That Was Frickin’ Embarrassing
Maybe that's all we need to say sometimes.
No inspirational lesson.
No five-step plan for overcoming embarrassment.
No journal prompt.
You did something ridiculous.
Someone saw it.
You survived.
“Well, that was frickin’ embarrassing.”
And then you move on.
Check your teeth.
Zip your fly.
Pull your dress out of your underwear.
Remove the toilet paper from your shoe.
Find the glasses that are already on your head.
And for God's sake, cross your legs before you sneeze.
Then carry on.
Because aging gracefully may not be going according to plan...
but at least we're getting some damn good stories out of it.
---
**Now I want yours.**
What's the everyday embarrassing moment that still makes you cringe—or the one you've finally learned to laugh about?
I want the falls. The wardrobe malfunctions. The things hanging out of places they shouldn't be. The forgotten names. The bodily betrayals. The moments when you seriously considered moving to another country.
Send them my way.
Because **Well, That Was Frickin’ Embarrassing! Part Two** may absolutely need to happen.
**Sex’n’Fries — Aging gracefully is definitely not going according to plan.**
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