Sunday, July 18, 2010

oh sheesh.

So when I first moved into my ward, I was invited to attend a new member dinner. At said function, I suppose to increase brotherly kindness and fellowshipping, everyone was required to tell their most embarrassing story. To be quite honest, I really had a difficult time thinking of a story to tell, not because I never do embarrassing things but because the humiliation I felt wasn't powerful enough to leave an indelible impression. This last week, however, I experienced the MOST meltingly humiliating situation I ever have before and believe ever will come in contact with. Here I am, therefore, to publish it. Makes sense, right?

I do need to preface my story with one fact: I love a man I work with. And no, not reall love him. Not in the sappy and romantic I-love-you-forever kind of a way. Mostly just in the WOW-you-are-attractive-and-I'm-single-and-you're-single-and-you-are-actually-kind-of-awkward-in-an-endearing-sort-of-way love him. So yes. Crush on a man. And here is how the most ultimately embarrassing situation of my life went down:

I was sitting at my desk, and for some reason unknown to me, I was REALLY struggling with boredom. My cubicle neighbor is narcoleptic, and so perhaps seeing him pleasantly bobbing away, mouth agape, launched me into a reverie of my own. I had previously made plans to go up to Baltimore to hang out with my narcoleptic co-worker at an art festival. I got to thinking. Cogitating. I began musing. "(Insert name of man I have a crush on) also lives in Baltimore. Why don't I invite him too?" Small smile, pat on the back, pleasantly pleased by my own wiliness. Then creased brow, concerned frown.

"But wait. I haven't seen him at work in a while. He mentioned he might be going on vacation? Maybe he is on vacation." Ponderous thinking. Pursed lips. Heavy sigh. Pause. Raised eyebrows. Eyes brightening.

"Why don't I just send him an e-mail inviting him to go with us? Like, a hair-flippingly flirty e-mail that if he gets before the art festival, GREAT. If not, he still has a hair-flippingly flirty e-mail to get back to after his vacation." Bingo. Once again, small smile, pat on the back, pleasantly pleased by my own wiliness. I set to working crafting a gem of an e-mail, figuratively flipping my hair and swaying my hips with every comma and period I employed. It was short. Sassy. And then I sent it. Brazen and confident, right?

Five seconds later, auto-reply: "(Insert name of man I have a crush on) is out of the office. If you need immediate assistance, please contact Christina Stanley."

My thoughts: "Ok cool. Not here. At least the ball is in his court now."

Not three seconds later, a second e-mail, (dare I say e-mail from DOOM) only this one is NOT an auto-reply, nor is it from the man I have a crush on. It is from Christina Stanley: "(Insert name of man I have a crush on) is having all of his e-mails forwarded to me. If you want to get in contact with him," she tells me, "try his gmail account."

And so I quite literally melted into my seat with complete and utter embarrassment. So much for being a plucky blonde, right? I was ratcheted off whatever confident peak I had previously reached and flung down into the gaping jaws of cavernous humiliation. I mentally kicked myself for all the hair-flipping and hip-swaying. TOO many commas. WAY too much sass.

And so what did I do after my initial visceral reaction? (Which was hysterical giggling, by the way.) I invited Christina Stanley to come with us, of course: "Oh excellent. Glad to keep you in the loop. You are welcome to come as well if you would like!"

Needless to say, it was just my narcoleptic friend and I at the art festival yesterday.

2 comments:

Jenni said...

you sent her a reply email?? you neglected that part of the story when we were gchatting. on another note, you are such a flirt (inset hair flip here.) love you...and the man who wears linen.

Joe and Katie said...

You know that crusty feeling you get in the corner of your eyes after you have been laughing so hard that your tears have dried to your face. Yup. That is me after reading this post. Joe too. Thank you for allowing us to delight in the awkwardness.