« Home | Gameday!!! » | Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind » | Positive » | In Good Company » | Worst. Video. Ever. Period. Seriously. » | Little House on the Prairie vs. the Gothic South » | God is Love and God is God » | Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them » | Analogy? » | T vs. Modernity »

Feeling Foolish

This is a story where I was made to feel foolish, although it wasn't really my fault.

Setting: UNL Holdredge Bus (Route #24). 4:30 p.m., Friday afternoon.
Characters: Boy wearing Hastings High School Shirt (I later discover that his name is Paul) and me.

Me: (Noticing boy is wearing shirt from my alma mater) You went to Hastings High School?
Boy: Yeah.
Me: Cool! Me too. What year are you?
Boy: I'm a freshman this year.
Me: Oh, really? Do you know my brother Anthony?
Boy: (Giving me a somewhat puzzled look) Um..yeah. Actually, I guess we live across the street from your family.
Me: Oh, right.

This is a story where I made a fool out of myself--definitely my fault on this one.

Our story begins at the wedding reception of two very good friends of our hero (that's me). The cake was cut, the bride's bouquet tossed, and the groom had carefully removed the garter from his new bride's leg; it was time for all single men (which, as fate would have it, included our hero (that's me)) to gather in order to try to capture the lucky garter. As the fateful moment came, our hero (that's...well, you get the picture) tried his best to remember his training from the basketball he played in elementary school--being the tallest, our hero was wont to be elected to be his team's jumper for tip-offs.

Furiously trying to block out the other single men, our hero keeps his eyes steadily on the garter. At the moment the garter is released, he lunges for it, probably knocking aside a twelve-year-old or two in the process. On the first attempt, no one is able to capture that elusive marriage charm, and it goes scurrying across the polished, oak dance floor. Our hero, paying no mind to his suit, dives for the garter, sliding across the floor in a testosterone-induced fit of competitiveness. Unfortunately, he is boxed out and another stag gains the trophy.

Walking back (in shame) to where his friends are sitting, our hero is greeted with questions about the nature of his valor, such as, "Are you crazy?" Sitting down and brushing himself off, our hero rests from his activity and inspects the damage.

The moral of this story is: even waxed wood floors are able to tear suit trousers if anyone is stupid enough to slide while wearing them.

Labels: ,

That's hilarious. I'm notorious in my family for ripping my pants/jeans in various, creative ways. Case in point:

I climbed out beyond the "no trespassing" sign at the Grand Canyon and sat down on a ledge of rock. When I scooted off, the sharp rock ripped my jeans from the back pocket to my knee. Classy.

So you're among friends.

Wait, how is that first one not your fault?

Still embarrassing, though. It reminds me of the time when I was 4th or 5th grade and I saw my computer teacher walking toward me on the sidewalk. "Hi, Mrs. F," I said. She said nothing. She was closer now. "Hello, Mrs. F," I repeated. Still nothing. Even closer. "Hi, Mrs --" Oops. That's not Mrs. F.

I guess I didn't really explain how that first one wasn't my fault, but here's the deal: his family moved into their house across the street from us the year I moved to Lincoln to start college. So, I just never met him while I lived there.

Anne, your story is sort of like a story today: I saw a friend of mine, and said, "Hello, Karen [as in, the Karen who was just married this summer, the Karen whom we all know and love (Joe especially)]," but she completely blew me off. Or, maybe she just didn't hear me.

Okay, maybe my story isn't like yours at all, but I thought that it was kind of funny.

Post a Comment