Someday we’ll laugh about this . . .
I was 21 years old, meeting my then-boyfriend’s parents for the first time. The four of us were having a lovely dinner of steak and new potatoes at the gorgeous rural homestead that had been in their family for nearly two centuries. They were gracious and kind, if a bit more formal than my own family. I thought I was doing well. But suddenly, I felt with my foot a small, squishy lump under my chair. I must have dropped a potato! I am such an idiot. No problem, I’ll just nudge it over with my toe and stealthily lean down to pick it up with my napkin so I can slip it back onto my plate . . .
I couldn’t stifle a scream when I realized it wasn’t a potato. “Oh wow,” my then-boyfriend said. “Our cat must have brought you a freshly killed mouse as a present. Why did you pick it up?”
We all have these embarrassing stories. Sometimes they are so funny they make the “greatest hits reel” at family gatherings and cause an auntie to laugh so hard she cries, snorts, or has her own embarrassing moment necessitating fresh bottoms. Why share embarrassing moments with the ones you love? For one, we bond over them because EVERYONE has them. These stories reaffirm the fact that we are all imperfect—and wonderfully human—together. For another, we know our tribe will never greet such a story with scorn or judgment or (worse) silence. Our people will empathize. They will laugh with us and they will share their own stories right back.
I come from a long line of ladies who know the taste of a foot in their mouth and the feel of a hot crimson flush on their cheeks. We have had buttons pop at inopportune times, tried to cover for our children saying the most awkward things, and just generally felt silly on countless occasions. For example, my mother:
On picture day, St. John’s students were not required to wear their uniforms. Cyndi got her daughters ready and then put on her own pretty burgundy short sleeve sweater that she was going to wear with a navy blue skirt. She didn’t want the skirt to wrinkle while she gave the girls breakfast—and somebody inevitably spilled milk—so she hung the skirt over the stair railing and put on only her slip until it was time to leave. Cyndi was walking up the stairs to the second-grade classroom while the principal, Mike Buckley, was walking down.
“Good morning,” Mr. Buckley said. “Mrs. Jansen, I think you maybe forgot something.”
Cyndi looked down and to her embarrassment realized she had forgotten to put her skirt on before she left home.
My mother may have wished the earth would open up and swallow her at that moment. I’m glad it didn’t. And I’m glad she has shared her “slip-ups” with me.