Whiner's Bio

Embarrassing moments happen. When they do, my only comfort is to remind myself that I'm not the only person who has, say, run into a tree or slipped on ice before. I know I'm not, but that still doesn't take the embarrassment completely out of a really stupid situation.
A reallllllly stupid situation.
For instance.
On Saturday I attended an Aggie basketball game with my husband and his family. After the game finished, I began stepping lightly down the rows of fold-up chairs. Oh, my years of ballet have taught me grace. I was careful to point each toe; I extended my arms to maintain a delicate balance and, as I did so, mentally noted to myself how humiliating it would be to take a tumble in front of so many people. Unfortunately, my next step was far too close to the inside of the chair. The seat flipped up, and with a painful burning sensation in the middle of my foot I realized I was stuck. Really stuck. With tears in my eyes and a valiant effort to keep the hysteria in my voice at a minimum, I called to Jason,
"Honey, I (grunt)....can't (grunt).... move."
He tried to pull my foot out but it wouldn't budge. I was stuck in a silly balancing act, trying to free my throbbing foot and maintain the dwindling remnants of my shattered dignity.
While this was happening, a group of girls sitting behind the culprit chair sat staring at me with dumb stupefaction, as if I was nothing more than a rather boring halftime show.  
Just wait, I thought malevolently to myself,  just wait until it happens to you!
And with that angry burst my foot finally came free. It was white in the place where it had been squeezed by the chair. I privately repressed an urge to kick something and instead smiled benevolently at the row of people behind us that had been unfortunate enough to witness the ridiculous spectacle. They stared at me with looks that obviously stated, I can't believe you just did that. Defeated, I limped pathetically away, leaning heavily on Jason's arm. I took it upon myself to whisper maliciously every few minutes in his ear of the terrible pain I had undergone recently-- just in case he had forgotten.
Fortunately for everyone, my humility came back to me later in the evening. Wheeling around wildly on the floor, trying to seize Winston's tail as they chased each other, Jason's forehead sharply met the corner of the kitchen counter. He fell backward with a deep moan and lay motionless. After several minutes of groaning and writhing on the floor, I left off my commands for him to get up and stop complaining and took my cue for wifely concern. I hobbled to his side. There, on the forehead of my dearly beloved, was a small purplish gash and a growing goose ache. Gingerly sneaking a peak at my still sore but entirely physically unscathed foot, I felt a flood of guilt. How could I be so selfish? I peppered his face with kisses.
"Ow, careful!" Jason said.
No matter. With a few comforting words and a smoothing of his hair, Jason lay quite still. I felt completely sad for my friend. How terrible that he should be hurt! But then... a little creeping thought pronounced itself unbidden into my consciousness. He did stupid things too! We were, I realized with glowing warmth, perfect for each other. After all, misery loves company.