I love Facebook.
Say what you will about Facebook being of the devil and whatnot, I love the fact that with Facebook, I've been able to get in touch with people I went to grade school with. Not the assholes who bullied me. But I did learn with a great deal of satisfaction that those same people now work minimum wage jobs working the local gas station schlepping iced drinks and cigarettes. And they said I would never amount to much!
Karma, it would appear, is a bitch.
Anyway, it was with Facebook that I got in touch of some of my former classmates from my high school days. One of which being the guy I had a HUGE crush on my senior year, but was too shy to do anything about. He wasn't the most popular guy, but he was an athlete and well-liked. And, he was blond. Back then, I was partial to blonds. Before I matured and moved on to not-so-tall, dark, and handsome.
Seeing his profile, made me think of what could probably be the most embarrassing moment in my high school career.
My senior year, I was a member of the drill team, dance team, spirit squad...whatever the hell they call it where you dance at halftime and don't cheer. We did not have an award-winning squad. In fact, the only thing that sucked worse was our marching band (that tied for last place in competition). That is why I tried out for drill team. Anything to get me out of marching with the crappy marching band without actually quitting band altogether (because I was still planning on becoming a music teacher at the time).
Because I was a saucy little package back then, and I had mad dancing skills, I made the team. I was issued my uniforms, and charged with the mantle of dressing in the little pleated skirt and shaking my ass for the entire town of Harvard, Nebraska on most Friday nights.
And speaking of the pleated skirts...we had to wear them to school on game day.
I was taking computer class, and my work space happened to be next to my crush at the time. His name was Tim. Tall, blond haired, blue-eyed, Basketball God Tim with a last name I still can't even spell right. It was game day, so I was dressed in my short pleated skirt. Did I mention it was short?
I went to push away from the desk to go get something from the printer when the wheel of my chair caught on the carpet, and backwards I went. The next thing I know, I'm on my back, feet in the air, barely-there red pleated skirt up, flashing those bright red matching bloomers, and Tim's face peering down at me.
If ever were a time where the earth could open up and swallow you whole, that would have been the most ideal time.
Our computer teacher asked if I hurt anything, and I just laid in that spot. Rooted by sheer terror and embarrassment, I answered, "Only my pride, sir."
I'm sure Tim didn't think much of it, but I was mortified, and remained so for the rest of the year. Nothing ever came of my crush. We graduated. We moved on, and Tim none the wiser. I became a nurse, and he became the very thing I loathe and despise...a physical therapist.
Just a fun little story I thought I would share, so if you excuse me, I need to make an appointment with my shrink.