Mortify Me

It was a good day to embarrass myself.  I cried while telling a story at a meeting this morning.  Oh, I hate when I do that.  It's bad enough that I stop everything to tell a story about my grandfather, and worse still when I get all snuffly about it.

Then, it turns out that the article I was asked to write for the Veteran's Day ceremony was turned around on its head and instead, I was interviewed.  Oh, I do not want to have my name in the newspaper, or worse, my picture.  Oh man.  Can't I just write the article?  Please?

Then, to cap it all off - yes, you thought that might have been enough embarrassment for one day, but no - someone asked me if Mike was my son.  Mike, the Scoutmaster, the guy I'm hugging, my husband.  I was hard to straighten that one out.  I was silenced.  If only I'd been silent at the meeting this morning, or when the reporter arrived at the Veteran's Day ceremony and started asking me questions. 

Mike, to his credit, didn't laugh too hard and later told me that the old guy who asked must have been really old and must not have very good vision. 

Thanks for listening, jules