Ember has sing

I imagine that I have been thinking a lot about embarrassing moments this week because I've had the honor of playing Simon Cowell at my school's Talent Show auditions last Wednesday and Thursday. I assume that most everyone has at some point in their life attended a Talent Show, but until Fox decided to air the American Idol audition footage, we've never had the privilege of seeing the raw cut. Let me tell you, it is both a blessing and a curse. A chance to see all of the talent at our school, (pause, in case you don't understand what a comma is) along with some . . . others. If I were to further detail some of these "other" talents, I would have officially bought myself 2 more hours in Hell, which at this point I can't afford. So, for the sake of my eternal salvation, I will use some refrain.

As I was posting the final show list on my door this last Friday, I reassured myself with the thought that those disappointed will soon get over it, and that rejection is just part of the "growing up process." But, in reality, we all know that that's a lie. If that were true, I wouldn't be able to list in chronological order every embarrassing and/or disappointing moment of my life. Interestingly, the list from elementary school is twice as long as the rest, since I have now added to it through retrospection. Things that I thought weren't humiliating at the time are now mortifying as an adult. Much like my own talent show try outs.

Anecdotal examples: In Kindergarten when I sang a song about Tithing to a panel of mostly Pagan-elementary-school teachers, or when I auditioned in 6th grade by singing (not a talent of mine) "Tale as Old as Time" with the cassette recording of Angela Lansbury singing behind me. . . I ended by saying, "Off to the cupboard with you now Chip, it's past your bedtime." I'm haunted by what all the adults in the room were thinking.

So, in combination with actual embarrassing moments, the list is pretty long. Why is it that as much as I wish I could, I cannot forget about the time in 5th grade that one of my dad's friends mistook me for a boy and asked me if I thought the girl behind the counter at the diner we were eating at was cute? I use the term "diner" pretty loosely, as in actuality, we were at a restaurant attached to the Livestock Auction near my house. Undoubtedly, the burger I was chewing on was probably an unclaimed steer from the previous week's auction . . . the menu was written in pencil. But, don't worry, my dad smoothed the whole situation over by pulling off my backwards baseball cap (Yep. For further information, please see "When I Was a Boy"), and exclaimed "This is a girl!" Ah, the words every young girl longs to hear, a correction to her gender. Phew, crisis evaded. Thanks dad. Obviously I, like my students, have not gotten over it.

Maybe one day I will. But, until then, I take comfort in knowing that I can be part of someone else's humiliating journey through adolescence. Since obviously, once you're an adult, the embarrassment stops. Cough, cough.

Non-embarrassing-Adult Moments (I apologize to both Cassie and my sisters Kym and Lacy who I included without their consent):
We've all been harnessed at some point, right?
The Olympics adds 45 pounds
Kym posing with a stuffed version of our school mascot
Do not show Oprah this picture! But, sometimes even the Cowardly Lion needs to send a text.
I took this photo 7 years ago before church. It still make me laugh just as hard today.

Hands free

Whenever I'm at the mall, I find myself secretly jealous of all the moms. While I hope to be a mom someday myself, I'm not jealous of their baby. I mean, I know my future child will be darling. But, when I am carrying all of my neon-yellow Forever 21 bags (incriminating, but faith promoting), I am green with envy for the mother pushing her baby in a mall shopping cart, a.k.a. a stroller. Ugh, I can't wait. In fact, if you knew me seven years ago, you might remember that my New Year's resolution was "Hands-free 2003!" Much to the chagrin of my sisters, this goal entailed a myriad of clip-on cell phones and keys . . . I very much resembled a custodian or contractor.

Mommies, if any of the following offends you, just remember that I am an inexperienced single person.

So, I guess I'm confused by the baby sling. I get the fact that it comes in a variety of fabrics and patterns and color schemes (brown + pink/turqoise/lime green/any modern color). Cute? But, it seems to be a regression from modern technology. Is it more natural? I guess if your baby is named Joey.
It might just be me, but this doesn't seem easier (unless your goal is Osteoporosis).
I can barely fold one of those shirts with an attached camisole, let alone follow whatever pictorial instructions accompany the versatile baby sling. But, I'm pretty sure I could figure out how to use this:
Behold the future. FUNNN! I'm also pretty sure that this baby is having a great time.

In the meantime, I'm thinking this might be a plausible option for my next trip to the mall:

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