Reject Uniformity (AKA I sucked at organized sport)--Day #10

Hello friends!

Today's prompt is to talk about my most embarrassing moments. Oh, boy do I have stories. Have I no shame?

No, no I do not. So a-posting on the internet I go.

As we might have all guessed, most of these moments happened in high school. I suppose it's hard to have embarrassing moments when you lock yourself in your dorm 24/7. Wheee, adventure.

In tenth grade, I was on the dance team. That in itself is embarrassing enough for an open "nerd." Though I obviously didn't fit into their "nail polish of the day" group, but I was a good enough dancers to go by unnoticed during practice, and I rocked it at performances.

Until the Halloween parade.

There's something you should know about dance teams: their uniforms are sacred. Like, those pieces of material are worshiped by the fashion gods. The tighter fitting, the better. If a single strap was out of place, your button-crotch leotard undone (oh yes, buttons on the crotch that never buttoned back up after peeing--kinda defeats the purpose), or a single missing strand in your hair tie, you were punished. To the dance team stocks! Or worse, with the band kids.

So I made very sure to keep my uniform tied, pinned, buttoned and ironed. After spending seventy bucks on the uniform, it made sense to ensure I could actually stay on the team long enough to use it. I went through about four weeks of waving a pom pom around performances un-punished.

The girls, however, had planned our costumes for the Halloween parade since the stone age. We were all told to dress up as '80's workout girls. I could make that fun enough without looking like too much of a skank. I had some ideas. I had some neon clothes. I laid out everything the day of the parade and stuffed it into my bag.

The wrong uniform. An hour before the parade. 

I believe the technical response is, "ohhhhhh, shit."

I had to march with these girls (who already hated me) in my regular maroon and grey uniform, while the rest of the universe looked like '80's workout girls. But humility doesn't like to just bite me in the ass, it likes to tear my entire ass off. We then had to perform a set of like, three songs in front of the entire school. And everyone's parents. And grandparents. And godparents. And pet guinea pigs.

Yeah, that was the night I decided to quit dance team.

*                                                       *                               *          
About a year and a half later, my life moved from stumbling through dance team to obsessing over a guy. I had told myself I was over this boy for the past six months, but when you announce your closure, you're actually wide open.

The yearbook had just come out, and my crush had taken senior photos. For whatever reason, I was convinced that his photo would look outrageously horrible and I could get all the revenge I ever needed. I was with two other friends at my locker, and I was all "where's [insert boy's last name here]? Find him!" Repeat this phrase about five times, and you'd be me.

Guess who walks out of the classroom right next to us, door wide open?

I'm actually shocked I ever had the courage to say words to this kid after that.

Namaste.