Here’s the latest blogroll question:
Tell a Funny Story on Yourself. We’ve all had things happen in the past that we thought were the worst or most embarrassing thing EVER, but come to realize years later just how funny the situation actually was. What’s your story, and at what point did you realize it was no longer embarrassing, but hilarious?
Sadly, I have so many incidences to consider for this that I’m not sure that whatever I choose will be the best I could find. In the face of this, I’m just going to give it a go.
When I was a junior in high school, I qualified for a summer program for advanced students. I got to spend a summer on a college campus with about three hundred other kids, taking “classes” in a major and a minor subject. At the time, I was leaning toward studying theatre in college, so I “majored” in drama and “minored” in a class that had us volunteering at a day care twice a week.
The drama class was fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. Our teacher had a great deal of professional experience, and he taught us a lot about several methods and media: black box theatre vs traditional theatre, stage combat, radio drama, the difference between TV/movies and theatre.
Stage combat was everyone’s favorite. Learning to make it look like you’re kicking someone’s butt or getting your own butt kicked is so much fun! Unfortunately, you need a couple of things that I don’t really have in order to do it well: coordination and depth perception.
This was made painfully obvious on the day when we learned how to make it look like you’ve gotten your face slammed into something.
The way that is supposed to work? The other person pretends to grab you (we did it by pretending to grab a handful of hair), you put your hand over theirs, and you whip your head down/over >thisclose< to whatever you’re supposed to be hitting. At the same time, you slam your other hand onto that surface to create the aural and visual appearance of having gotten your face smashed.
No problem, right?
Well, #1, I hit the table with my hand right where I was going to “hit” my face. #2, I actually hit that hand with my face because I couldn’t tell how close I was to the table. So, I popped right off the table with a pained expression, clapping a hand over my eye as though I’d gotten my face bashed in. Everyone complimented me on my fabulous reaction.
End result? One black eye from where my thumb hit the soft spot just along the underside of my eyeball. Nobody noticed for a week when it turned black and blue while it was healing. But when it got to that point, everyone noticed. I think I was asked three hundred times what happened and had to explain about three hundred times that I just couldn’t tell where my face ended and the table started.
And that was just the first time I gave myself a black eye… (See the post before this one for my latest foray into the land of accidental self-flagellation.)