I am a klutz. I own this. I celebrate this. I revel in this. If I fall? I don’t get embarrassed. I laugh and make sure everyone around me knows that this is a genetic condition I have lovingly passed on to my children. I also qualify that they got other gifts to counterbalance it – like athleticism or grace – whereas I’m just a klutz.
Do I embarass over this? Nope. Not even deep down inside. If I fall in public (which is often) or do something klutz like bash my head with a plate from a bar in BodyPump class (which I did yesterday) – I just smile and laugh knowingly. Nothing to be embarrassed about.
But I wasn’t always so in touch with this part of my existence. While I’ve always been mostly okay with it, and had friends growing up who accepted it as part of my personality, there was one fall back in 10th grade that I still have nightmares about.
Sophomore year. I had my first “real” boyfriend. The first boy who I was convinced I loved and could easily see myself spending forever with. You know the one. We all had one, right?
Anyway…we had a basketball team at my very small high school. And maybe he played? At least JV? I don’t know. Those details aren’t important. I just remember I was dressed up because I was keeping stats that night (WHAT? It was a small high school! Everyone had a job!) and I remember wearing black suede flats with little gold pieces on the top. The love of my life and I walked in the back door of the gym and went to cross the gym with the teams beginning to warm up. The gym wasn’t full, but there were plenty of people in there who I was trying to be dignified around. INCLUDING THE LOVE OF MY LIFE.
So, we’re walking across the gym, not holding hands (we weren’t that couple, had we been I might have been spared), and those stupid suede flats slipped on the high-gloss court and BAM! on my ass in front of two basketball teams warming up for a game.
IT WAS AWFUL. The embarrassment I felt was still so vivid that I often still feel a little residual dread when I remember it.
Do you have any of those? Those ultra-embarrassing moments that – if they happened today, wouldn’t faze you – but when you recall them you still quake in shame? Even if they are decades in your past?