I used to think my most embarrassing moment happened in the seventh grade. Some girls had those moments when they had things stuck in their braces or smelled bad in gym class. I was the girl who pissed her pants at a group birthday party while paddling serenely around a lake with the boy she thought was cute. No really. I peed myself in public while my friends crooned “Kiss the girl” from the Little Mermaid. I was the girl who on her graduation from high school had people laughingly reminding her of that moment. I remember jumping into the lake to try and hide my mortification, and the salty rough burn of my jeans on my thighs. I remember that the boy never talked to me again. Oh yea, it was spectacular.
And hard to beat.
But then a couple days before Christmas, on the eve of my divorce, my boyfriend broke up with me while I was making him dinner. I had been so excited coming home from work that night. I was all aglow with thoughts of wedding rings and what beautiful babies we’d make. He had strong cheekbones and an aquiline nose with pretty blue eyes. They’d have his cheekbones and my hair color and be the most beautiful babies ever. They’d grow up to read a healthy mixture of comic books and Foucault. They would be brilliant and rebellious- how could they not? They’d be our kids: his and mine. And it would fade into that soft dreamy focus of forever that only happens in movies and in my head.
So how could this be happening? Spaghetti boiling, meat sauce simmering, and wooden spoon turning in endless circles as I could only take deep breaths as it all disappeared.
What was embarrassing was while I was planning baby showers and white dresses, he was thinking about how unhappy he was. And I didn’t know it. I had no idea.
When did I become the girl who had her dreams in her back pocket and a ten year plan, but no concept of what was happening in my life? How could I get A’s on my interpretation of Shakespeare, but not see the guy I loved was miserable?
I’m embarrassed to admit that I was so wrong. I’m more embarrassed and hurt than that seventh grader with piss puddling beneath her on that paddle boat.
So yea, that’s my story. I’m thirty one and single. This blog will be about what it’s like to wake up and realize I have a life I’ve been ignoring. Embarrassing as it is, I’m going to try and be honest.