Thursday, July 14, 2011

Embarrassing Moment

E: Embarrassing Moment

Okay, I have a lot of these.  Probably more than the average person.  I'm clumsy, shy, and I tend to have a strange sense of humor.  However, I've decided to share one particularly embarrassing moment from about three or four years ago.

I was eating lunch at a deli with some of my friends.  One of these friends was Whitney.  On that day, she happened to be wearing a bright yellow t-shirt.  Yellow is a bright color anyways, but this shirt was NEON.  It was so bright that it was rare.  Surely nobody else in the vicinity would have a shirt the same color.

After going through the line and ordering my food, I started to get my drink out of the fountain.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a neon yellow shirt approach me and begin pouring a drink out of the same fountain.  She stepped pretty close to me AND she was wearing a bright shirt, so it would be natural to think that she was Whitney, right?

Spinning around, I balled up my fists and said in a low, growly voice, "What do you think you're doing, little girl?"  Something I'd typically say as a joke to a friend.

Well, it wasn't Whitney.

A forty-something-year-old woman in a neon yellow t-shirt stared at me with a mixture of horror and confusion on her face.

And then, instead of acting cool, instead of laughing it off, instead of apologizing and explaining how I'd mixed her up with a friend, I backed slowly away before rushing back to my table and burying my head in my arms.  My face was probably red for the next two days.

I was so embarrassed.

What's one of your embarrassing moments?
If you're taking the alphabet blogging challenge on your blog, please let us know in the comments!

1 comment:

  1. Emily, that's hilarious!! I love the way you describe the woman's reaction. I had to think hard for this part of the challenge, but I managed to come up with something. You (and whoever else wants to revel in my red-faced-ness) can read it here: www.martinsden.com :) It was actually fun to write.

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