Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Exercise in Humiliation

So I am jumping around the timeline once again. Please forgive me. I am going back to my trip, my cruise. Tonight I shall talk about the most embarrassing night of my life onboard. The night I truly put myself on the map. The night I became, “that girl who…” It started out like any other night…on a cruise…in the Mediterranean. Ok, it started out like any other night for me. I went to dinner and then a show and then headed out to go dancing in the little nightclub where incidentally, almost no one would dance but I didn’t care. They were having an 80’s night with free shots for right answers and I was on a role. First one, yes!!! Oh, I know this one too! So I run up on stage, offer my answer and back up a step, right into the speaker which I promptly fall backwards over, though I did demurely manage to keep my dress from flying completely up over my head. “Do you need medical attention?” the host queries into the mic. “No thank you,” comes my shaky reply. “Do you need medical attention?” he asks again. “No, I’m good,” my slightly more strained answer. “Do you need medical attention?” Ok, what is with this guy? “No, nothing, thank you.” I was waiting for him to say Ovaltine? I start to walk away and he says, “wait, don’t you want your shot?” Great, like I don’t look like the drunk girl already.

So I take the shot but my leg is throbbing and I’m so shaky that the thing just dribbles down the sides of my mouth. I take as high brow a swipe with my forearm as I can muster and feebly leave the stage. Walk, it off girl. Nobody noticed the girl in the black and white polka dot dress just take a dive bomb on the stage, you’re good! So I leave to regroup and come back about 20 minutes later. Still in the same dress, but less sticky faced after a little trip…ok, bad choice of words…to the restroom.

I’m dancing, having a grand ol’ time when this young man, and I mean young, read looks about 15, comes up to me. “I’m Clayton, wanna dance?” I, uh, sure, why not. It’s just a dance. And he has to be at least 18 or he wouldn’t be in here. Though 18 seems many years ago… “I don’t really know how to dance. Mostly, I Mosh.” Really, what have I gotten myself into? Anyway, he sort of runs off and I’m dancing when his MOTHER comes up to me.

“He has been watching you all night and was so nervous.” Oh, my g*d, I am in hell. And his sister comes over. I just wanted to dance, I swear. So I just keep moving and make my way off the floor and to the DJ’s station. I’m in the midst of making a request when I hear this gruff voice behind me. “I’m sorry,” I respond.

“I said, I’ll buy you a drink if you go sit with my nephew.” Ok, seriously, am I being punked? I turn to see this much older gentleman and he gestures to a table across the room where two men and a woman, about my age, maybe a little older are seated. Sigh. What the hell, free drink, and I’m here for experiences, right?

“Amaretto sour,” I shoot back at him and stride across the floor to the waiting lynch mob. “Hi, which one of you is the nephew? I think I’ve got a drink coming because of you.” They laugh. Amazing. They tell me it is a trick of their crazy, cranky uncle. We get chatting and I’m actually having a really nice time. Until, “where have we seen you?”

“I’m the girl who fell over the speaker.”

“Ah, yes. Wait, were you at the tequila tasting yesterday?”


“We bought the margarita for the table…that you drank. Alone.”


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