The Day I Ripped One

This is a difficult task for me. My most embarrassing moment? So many crazy and outlandish things that would mortify most people are routine for me. Two weeks ago, my daughter had a spend the night party for her birthday at a hotel The girls were going to do makeup makeovers. Then they decided to make me over—base, blush, lip gloss, eye shadow, mascara—the whole nine, you know? Then each of them took an eyebrow pencil and autographed my head like a baseball.

Was I embarrassed? No way. I walked through the hotel lobby that way.

But I suppose when I was a teenager, I was as susceptible to red faces as anyone. I do remember one time in chemistry class, we were studying molecules, atoms, and valence numbers. I raised my hand to either ask or answer a question. I can’t recall because the only thing I do remember is the ripping sound my shirt made at the seam underneath my armpit. It probably wasn’t as loud as I remember it, but it drew the attention of everyone around me—or perhaps it was the sight of my soft, fish-white flesh and little armpit hairs hanging out. Who knows?

To add insult to injury, my teacher made me take my shirt off in front of everybody and put on a lab coat while she mended the hole. Did you know, the word ‘atom” sounds like “madam” when you say it with a string of thread clinched between your teeth like my teacher did?

It was very, very embarrassing, but I keep thinking given the way she handled it, my only saving grace, and thank God, it wasn’t my pants!