I must admit the main reason I read Seventeen as a teenager was for the “Traumarama” section. I’m sure it’s why you do too. Why is it that others always want to know about our Most Embarrassing Moment (M*E*M)?
We all witnessed Ashlee Simpson's M*E*M on SNL. Oh well. At least she played it cool by exiting with a jig and then blaming it all on her band. :)
I’ve found that real “embarrassing moments” are less “ha ha” humorous and more “how could this happen?” horrifying. Of course, those aren’t the stories people want - they’re just too painful to hear. On the other hand, they also don’t want a story that was only a little embarrassing. The time you walked out of the school bathroom with TP stuck to your stiletto just isn’t that funny. And the request for M*E*Ms always seem to come at the most unexpected moments when you find yourself among a crowd of semi-strangers who are waiting on the edge of their seats to hear your tale. So as not to be caught off guard, I like to keep one (with just the right amount of embarrassment) in my back pocket to pull out for just such occasions. Here’s my rehearsed M*E*M:
“When I was a freshman in high school, my friends and I participated in a scavenger hunt type activity with several other groups of kids. Once the hunt was over, the trail lead all of our groups to someone’s house where a trampoline and a large spread of assorted donuts were awaiting us.
“Now donuts were a novelty in my family growing up. We lived on the outskirts of town, far from any donuts shoppes, so dunkin’ fresh donuts in the morning was never really an option for us. However, that year, I had begun taking a class that bribed us for good behavior and attendance with Donut Day every Friday. It was during one of said Donut Days that I was first introduced to the custard-filled donut, a delicacy in its own right. It was love at first bite, and I thus put a formal claim on one each week thereafter.
“To my delight, there was one of these custard-filled dreams rubbing shoulders with all of the fritters and crullers on the dessert table at this gathering. After making my obvious pick, my friends and I made our way over and on to the trampoline. There were about ten of us on there, just standing around, eating our donuts. Now, I don’t know about you, but I was raised with the belief that one should announce when they are going to do a flip and/or any other type of trick on the trampo when others are present. Apparently, there was one among us that night who had not yet received such training. I was walking from one friend over to another when - all of a sudden - I was hit! Not by a fist, but by a foot! This friend of mine - who was the #1 shot put and discus thrower at our jr. high if that tells you anything - had done a front flip out of nowhere and was currently landing on my face. Her body pushed me all the way down as it fell on top of me.
“Now if that was not enough trauma for a 14-year-old to undergo in front of dozens of her peers, let us please remember what I was consuming at the time. The scare of the abrupt blow to my forehead had caused me to duck and cover, throwing my hands - and consequently, my custard-filled donut - into my face. When I arose from the collision, I looked like the casualty of a pie-throwing clown - I was literally dripping in custard. I was so furious, I yelled something along the lines of ‘WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?!’ and threw the little bit of donut that I still had clenched in my trembling fist at the girl who had just used me as a gym mat. Then, in an effort to appear the victim, the culprit started off the trampoline with a limp, complaining that my head was ‘really hard.’ I blew off her attempt for attention and fled to the bathroom with J (see previous post) where I: first, had to deal with actually seeing my custard-face in the mirror; and second, had to rinse a good percentage of my entire head (hair included) in a foreign sink without making my mascara run. We immediately fled the scene, but I did have to go to school the next day with strategically styled bangs to cover the physical scrapes and emotional scars. Needless to say, the term ‘Donut Day’ has taken on a whole new meaning, and custard-filleds are no longer my favorite member of the donut family.”
Epilogue: No worries. Shot put girl and I were friends again soon after.
So there it is. My Most Embarrassing Moment. Dang it! - now I’m going to have to think of a different story to tell at parties.
So tell me…what is your M*E*M? And more importantly: Did it involve custard?
