Born to be awkward, even now

Sole mission quite a show

Ithink it’s your sole mission in life to take bad photographs of me,” I said to Trapper John as we scrolled through the pictures of our vacation while waiting for Old Faithful to erupt in Yellowstone National Park.

“I can’t help it if you blink right when I take the picture,” Trapper chuckled.

“It’s because you take so LONG to take the picture!” I chided. “It’s 1-2-3-go, or maybe even 1-2-and-go-on-3, but you go on 7 or something. Nobody goes on 7. By that time, I’m scratching my nose or looking at squirrels.”

Masked folks several feet away giggled. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but my husband takes bad pictures of me, too,” the lady said.

“And it’s 1-2-3-go,” said her husband.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “But just think, I’ve already met my awkwardness quota for the day, and it’s not even noon!”

I’m an awkwardness overachiever. The kid whose stomach sounded like a dying whale during the ACT exam? That was me. The young lawyer who unknowingly gave three presentations with toilet paper running down the back of her pantyhose? Yours truly. The girl who collapsed her umbrella the moment the gutter gave way? Pick me! And then there were those shoes…

When I was in junior high, my friend Sonya and I were headed downstairs to the cafeteria for lunch. I had on black flats — not Chuck Taylors or Air Jordans like other kids wore, but flats like my mother wore because that’s what she bought me. Not having your own currency as a pre-teen builds character.

The shoes were OK, but there was no tread on the soles. That was fine for dancing or pulling a “Risky Business” down the hall like Tom Cruise, but not so great for descending stairs, as I was about to learn.

I missed the first step on a flight of 20. My denim-clad derriere skidded all the way down — books and papers flying around me like the dust around Pigpen from the Peanuts gang — and spit me into a cafeteria filled with seventhand eighth-graders. I thought it couldn’t get worse. Then I looked behind me.

Sonya remained on the first stair, looking horrified. A herd of students peeked around her to see what had happened. The cafeteria came to a halt. Then like a bell, laughter rang in every direction. Ahhh, good times.

Now, you would think this would make me get rid of those shoes. This didn’t occur to me because I didn’t have a lot of shoes. So, when I got home, I sat on a pillow and put masking tape on the soles to gain traction. Problem solved. No more looking awkward by falling down the stairs at school.

It would be several days before I would climb the next rung of awkwardness when I propped my foot on my knee and Jimmy Ryman saw the tape. Hey, at least I was upwardly mobile.

Old Faithful erupted right on schedule, and Trapper snapped a picture.

“Both eyes open!” Trapper exclaimed.

Yep. I’m growing.