As if my lack of posting, Tweeting, Facebooking, and commenting in the blogosphere wasn’t enough of an indication, let me state for the record that holiday preparation has put me in a constant state of BEHIND. So it’s no wonder that I missed yesterday’s Girl Talk Thursday. When I saw the topic, though, I decided I had to post a late response because we all could use a good laugh right now. We’re talking embarrassing moments.
Really, I could write a book about all the stupid things I’ve done that should cause me embarrassment. But because I’ve inherited my dad’s “who cares?” attitude, not to mention I was a theatre nerd in high school and thus my sole purpose was to do embarrassing things, I don’t get embarrassed very easily. Just ask Hubby – goodness knows how hard he tries.
There is one moment, though, that I have yet to live down, some 13 years later. It’s known as Shiboobi.
It was the last show of my senior year: The Music Man. I was a townie, aka chorus member. Because I stand at a whopping 5′ 2″… on my tip toes… in high heels, I danced front and center in quite a few numbers. Shipoopi was one of my favorite dances. I got to partner with one of my favorite people who played my husband (we had made up this whole backstory during the downtimes at rehearsal… I think he even gave me a ring to wear during the show, lol), and the choreography, while exhausting, was so much fun.
I can’t remember if it was opening or second night. My partner and I were doing our dance, huge smiles on our faces. Right before I turned to take my spot front and center with the other girls, he leaned down and said through his smile, “Your shirt is open.” I quickly glanced down and noticed that yes, a button had popped in the most inopportune place possible. The dance I was about to do center stage required me to open my arms wide, which would, of course, open my shirt wide, too. I had to make a split decision. Do I rein in the dance in hopes the window to my boobs stays somewhat shut? Or do I throw caution to the wind and give the performance of my life? I decided, as they say, that the show must go on.
I took a deep breath, plastered a smile on my face, and danced full out, trying to forget about the peep show I was giving. As soon as the curtain closed, I hauled butt offstage in search of the costume crew, who were ready and waiting with safety pins.
Needless to say, my time in the spotlight did not go unnoticed. My drama teacher choked back his laughter as he kindly reminded me that we did not get permission to put on an x-rated show. Flowers that came backstage to me the next night included reminders from my friends to keep my clothes on. And of course, Shiboobi, as the song was lovingly referred to from then on, was captured on video so that it can be remembered forever.