I can promise you this won’t be anything remotely close to what you might be thinking – and if it is, then we must have been created from the same mold up in heaven. I thought since my last several posts were on the more serious side, we’d take a break and laugh at…uh, I mean with me for a moment.
One of my best friends in high school was a real go-getter. There were few things in life that intimidated her. I don’t believe I ever found her unwilling to push herself into situations that made my own stomach churn. Nothing bad, mind you.
For instance, Sandra loved dances. , Pam, usually trailed right behind, just as eager.
Not me. I loved to dance, but only those songs where contact with the opposite gender wasn’t necessary. Don’t get me wrong. I dearly loved the men folk. Many a daydream included a few particular specimens of interest to me.
The problem was I suffered from an extreme case of shyness coupled with a shaky self-image. At 5’2” I stood a good bit shorter than most everyone else. My height wouldn’t have felt like such a burden except for the size ten body wrapped around the squat frame. There were things I loved about myself, things that helped me to know I was someone worth knowing. I just didn’t love the way I looked.
In today’s world a size ten is nothing to whine about. Fifteen years ago it felt like reason enough to join my fellow wallflowers. Too bad Sandra didn’t feel the same way.
And now I share with the world one of my embarrassing experiences.
Sandra and Pam were determined one night to get me to dance with at least one guy at a multi-stake dance (I believe they’re called regional dances now). In this effort they scanned the room for a group of three guys to attack…oops, I meant approach. Sandra asked number one. Pamela walked off with number two. Number three took one look and I swear I saw him inwardly cringe. He was just as reluctant to do this as I.
We took to the dance floor, skirting the edges, standing as far apart as possible. Not one word escaped our lips for at least a minute and a half. If that doesn’t sound long…try it sometime. It feels like an eternity. I imagine both of us were anxious for the song to end.
Get this – we haven’t even gotten to the embarrassing part yet. A fellow classmate approached. She stood at close to nine feet tall – from my lowly perspective – and had the build of a trained dancer. Right behind stood a young woman about my height and drop dead gorgeous. As if I wasn’t feeling abnormally self-conscious already.
“Hey Randy,” said the Amazonian girl. “I found her. This is Chrissy.”
At that moment I realized Randy was being ‘rescued’ and I felt promptly humiliated (not to mention a bit angry with my friends for getting me into the situation in the first place). Not having the social knowledge to sweetly release my unwilling partner, I hung on like a limp, unwanted rag. The two girls left after several agonizing seconds, and Randy and I finished the dance in frustrated silence. I couldn’t even look him in the eye as I left.
After that experience, I never – and I do mean never – let Sandra pressure me into asking someone to dance again. Especially someone I didn’t even know. I still loved to go and have a good time with my friends. It just took those awful, awkward three minutes to realize something great.
I know my limits.
The next time Sandra and Pamela picked a group of guys, number three was left standing alone.
