I've been racking my brain lately trying desperately to think of something interesting for you to read. Now that I'm so busy (and boring) I have a hard time coming up with stuff to talk about and I'm afraid my blog will crash and burn! So I asked myself "what do I like to write about?" and the answer came.
More embarrassing moments from the vaults of my memory. And this particular one is a personal favorite of mine.
Before Tyson and I met I loved to go country dancing at this youth center in Provo. I would go with some friends and we had a great time kicking up our heels and impressing each other with new tricks. Since I was short and light I was "lucky" enough to be the one to try new moves and therefore the one most often dropped on my head.
But that's not what this story is about.
Although I'm sure those bonks on the head had some sort of effect on me.
Anyway, line dances were almost always the most fun thing for me (no sweaty uncoordinated boys yanking me around the room) and as a new one started up I jumped to the front of the room to get in on the action.
"Ahh yes!" I crowed to myself. " '8 second ride', I rule at this dance"
And no joke my friends, I was on my game that night. And if you're looking for a "real life" application of the pride cycle, here it is, because I was feelin' fine and proud as I shook my booty on that line.
It was at the height of the song where you squat down and slap the ground when it happened.
My jeans which were loose enough for me to walk in, but apparently not much else, suddenly gave way and I still don't know whether I heard the rip or felt the draft first.
And you guys, I'm not even sure how to say this, or if I should but the underwear I had chosen for the night was, um, not very modest, and surely not appropriate for the eyes that were certainly viewing them.
I reached behind me and grabbed at the remnants of cloth as I ran toward the wall. Oh gosh, it was worse than I could have imagined. I had split my pants from the belt line to about 1/3 of the way down my thigh.
There was no saving the situation. I was now trapped with my hiney pressed against the wall, and no possible means of escape.
Reset your pride cycle circle to humble and smitten.
Luckily, oh so luckily one of my friends came over to see what I was doing, clearly he noticed the life of the party was missing, heh heh. I gingerly explained my situation without using visuals and to my ultimate joy he produced a plaid shirt that he had removed because it was so hot. I gratefully accepted it and tied it around my waist.
Using my new kilt as cover I was able to casually speed walk to my cell phone where I called my roommate and begged her to bring me a new pair of jeans. My largest pair, please.
She did and the night was saved.
All I can say at this point is thank goodness for Tyson. I haven't done nearly the volume of stupid things that I used to and I truly believe it's because he saves me from embarrassing myself a thousand times a day.
Love ya babe.