Great Embarrassments of my Life: 1-5
I don't embarrass easily, but there are a few things that I've done that mortify me to my core, namely:
When I left an office job I languished in for six months, I printed off every single email I had sent or received while I was there. On single-sided A4 paper. I have them in boxes in the attic in my parents' house and, despite the fact that I'm sure those boxes are full of pure comedy gold, the fact that I printed off emails mortifies me beyond belief.
When I was 19, my boyfriend at the time got me a teddy bear for Christmas from The Teddy-Bear Factory. He had a voice box inserted in the teddy's chest that, when pressed, said, in his voice: "I love you so much. I will never, ever leave you." [Untrue, for the record.] But that's not the embarrassing part. I brought it to my cousins' house (they're all older than me, the youngest was about 25 at the time) and somebody sat on it.
I was in the choir in NUI Galway for three years. (Insert obvious joke here re: embarrassment.) We went to Italy for a competition and, while there, the conductor of the choir was in my room, which I was sharing with our vocal coach, for a chat. I had a shower and came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around me, and stood at the door of the balcony talking to them for a few minutes - a few minutes during which another choir member decided it'd be hilarious to pull my towel off. It wasn't. At least not to me.
I asked Pat Kenny what "sodomise" meant. I was doing my work experience in RTÉ radio, and my job was to open the letters from members of his adoring (read: crazy) public. I read one letter, twice, then turned to Pat and asked, plain as day: "What does sodomise mean?" He referred me to the secretary.
A friend of mine – a relatively new friend, I might add – gave me a key to her house, in case of emergencies (we were neighbours at the time). One day I called over to say hi, and while on the way there, met her husband, who told me she was in the house. When she didn't answer the door, instead of waiting it out, like a normal person, I thought, "well looky here! I have a key!" and let myself in. As soon as the door shut I realised how insane it was; I lingered in the porch for a moment like a murderer, then made my way into the house saying "helloooooo" in a terrified and mortified voice. She was in the bathroom, and when she got out, she screamed as if I was Freddie Krueger himself. She's since moved house, continent, in fact, and I spend at least 10 minutes every day attempting to convince myself that it's not because of that single erroneous and utterly mortifying decision.