They're All Gonna Laugh At You

My last semester of college-level Spanish was coming to an end. I had spent four years studying, practicing, and mastering this beautiful language, and, finally, the time had come for me to say adios to Spanish class. I was confident that I could now travel to any Latin community, summon the waiter at a restaurant, and successfully order two Coca-colas, please. I could tell him that my eyes are brown (they’re actually hazel, but no one knows how to say THAT in Spanish), that I like to go to the beach, and that the librarian is very skinny.

As I walked into the classroom one last time, my amigo Lee (amigo means friend in case you’re not bilingual like I am) was sitting at our table holding what appeared to be a flash card. I sat down, ready to practice our new words for the day, and in my best Spanish accent I read the two words written on the flash card to the other students at the table:

“Grah-day esteh-mah-tay. Weird, I have no clue what that means.” I said, a little nervous because after 4 years I was pretty sure I knew all the Spanish words.

“Uh, Rachel? It says 'Grade Estimate,' Lee said, turning over his card and revealing the letter A written in red ink. I was suddenly concerned that my grah-day esteh-mah-tay wouldn't be quite as high as Lee's.

Sometimes in life we say really stupid things. Every now and then, our brains short circuit, our common sense abandons us, or we might have added a little too much bourbon to our morning coffee. Some of us are just giant klutzes fumbling through life. My point is, why do we pretend like we aren’t all 5 seconds away from the most embarrassing moment of our lives?

Oh, you don’t think my Spanish story qualifies as the mother of all humiliation? How about this one:

I decided to attend a women’s breakfast at church because someone told me I really needed to make friends (thanks, Mom). I went to the breakfast by myself and found an empty seat at a table with seven older women who all knew each other. I tried to participate in the conversation, but none of the women seemed interested in my comments, which shocked me because I thought I was on a roll. Twenty minutes in, I heard someone say the word, “Disneyland," and I knew that this was my moment. I was about to make a new friend.

“I’m taking David to Disneyland; he’s ten and this will be our first time,” said one of the ladies.

“Oh my gosh! You’re taking your grandson to Disneyland!” I said, ready to offer any helpful tips and answer the multitude of questions I was sure she would have.

“David is my son,” she said, as laser beams shot at me from her bifocals. Her face reddened, complimenting her freshly permed salt-and-pepper hair.

I could go on and on regaling you with stories of my utter humiliation. Like when I was twelve years old and a teenage boy (who I had a huge crush on) tickled me so hard that I tooted while sitting on a countertop made of very thick, very hard wood. (In case you're unaware, solid wood countertops make incredible amplifiers.) I saw him six years later and the first thing he said to me was, "remember when you farted?"

I just want you to know that your incredibly embarrassing, most mortifying moments—the ones from which you think you’ll never recover—will one day be a source of great amusement. Especially for your family. And for those who were there to witness your disgrace. And for your children. And probably your grandchildren.

It’s alright. Go ahead and laugh at yourself. Everyone else is.