Happy now? (Most Embarrassing Moments)

Member Name: MorganaDQ

Product:	Most Embarrassing Moments
Date:	12/06/02 (236 review reads)
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Okay, so I've bitten the bullet, jumped on the bandwagon, thrown away all my pride, and have finally submitted to admitting to a few embarrassing moments. I must be crazy, but we probably already knew that. At least none of them involve bodily functions - that I can be proud of. I think.

Now, when it comes to sleeping, I've been known to talk. I don't usually talk sense, but I do talk, nonetheless. Now, of course, I don't remember what I've said, so I only ever have Mr Morgie, or poor suckers who share a floor with me after a party, to relay the previous night's antics to me. Unfortunately, I was subjected to much teasing after one particular party.

I was only 18 years old. I hadn't been at Univeristy for long, and to be perfectly honest, I was still very much the naive little thing. I loved my drink, as most teenagers do, and I loved flirting after I'd had a few bevvies (trust me, I was way too sweet and innocent to try anything pre-alcohol!). The party was going great - much drink, finger food, jelly and ice cream, silly party games, and ruining of Christmas songs went on - and I found myself strangely drawn to the tanned, muscular, Calvin Klein underwear-er with the deep, dark eyes and glowing smile. Well, what woman wouldn't?

The evening progressed wonderfully, and much rudeness and giggles ensued, until eventually, we all slept where we collapsed. Well, I happened to be on the sofa, with four other people, including the underwear god (lets call him Neil), scattered at various points on the floor around me. It was entirely natural to lay there in the dark, thinking naughty things about Neil as his oh-so-beautiful body lay just a few feet from me. It was also ever so nice to drift of to sleep in my drunken stupor, picturing him a damn sight closer than he was. Mmmmmmmm......

Well anyhoooo, morning finally came and it seemed I was the last to wake. As I roused myself I found I w
as being watched by the majority of the party-goers, all sat there, looking as hungover as I felt, but every one of them stifling giggles. All I could think was to look down and make sure my clothes were still intact. When I realised they were, I checked that my hair hadn't done the finger-in-a-plug-socket thing. Nope, my hair was a mess, but nothing to giggle about. So, I figured they were just teasing me, and I went to grab a mug of coffee.

One of my friends decided to follow me into the kitchen, and as I stood filling the kettle, she blurted it out. She finally told me why everyone was being so weird with me. Imagine, if you will, a very drunk, rather smitten 18 year old drifting off to sleep with images of a hunk and a half swimming round her head. And then, imagine that the same 18 year old talks in her sleep. And then, imagine that for once, what she was saying in her sleep wasn't gibberish at all, but the clearest she'd ever spoken even in her waking state.

I had it relayed to me, every last little word, in that tiny kitchen as everyone else sat awaiting my return in the living room. Every moan was repeated, every whimper, every sigh, every "Ohhhhhh Neil", was theatrically performed for me, every "Just there, ohhhhh yes....", every... well, you get the drift. And he'd heard it. Every last little bit. And so had everyone else who'd slept in that room. And the ones who didn't hear it first hand, heard it second. And then me, muggins here, was the very last person to know. And I couldn't escape. All I could do was return with my mug of coffee, lay out on the sofa, and smile weakly while my face glowed a most magnificent shade of red. What I wanted to do was run screaming from the house and never see any one of them again. But no, I had to then endure the laughs, the digs, the looks, until I could finally go home. It was the very same day that I decided no matter what, I was neve
r, EVER, going to fall asleep in the back of my dad's car.


You'd think by the age of 27 I'd have figured out the velvet rule, wouldn't you? You may or may not know it, but the velvet rule states that when any amount of force is placed on a piece of velvet whilst in contact with any other material than silk or satin, it absolutely will not move. Under any circumstances.

I went to see Shrek with Mr Morgie when it was on at our local cinema, and as an aside, we both thought it was excellent. But you know what the seats are like. They're covered with that hard-wearing coarse velvety stuff. A bad description, maybe, but as close as you're going to get from me, I'm afraid.

Well, this particular night I was wearing a long, lovely purple velvet skirt. We don't go out very often, so I'd decided to make myself feel beautiful even if I didn't look it. Now, I can't sit long at the best of times, usually, my body won't let me, so every now and again I was shuffling back up the seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs, even doing the occasional buttock clenches to keep from getting pins and needles. How was I to know what was going to happen? I should have realised, but nothing felt out of the ordinary.

The film finished, the cinema was packed out - adults and children everywhere. I usually sit a little longer and let the rush of bodies leave before I move, but on this particular night I didn't have any choice, being at the aisle. So as the lights began to illuminate the auditorium, I stood up. Something suddenly felt out of place, and I couldn't put my finger on what it was. So, I carried on. It was only when I tried to take my first step that I realised what it was.

My arm flung out and I steadied myself on Mr Morgie's shoulder, when as my foot laid back on the ground, I realised it was caught on my skirt. It took a second to figure out exactly why. Amidst
all the shuffling and re-arranging of myself in my seat, thanks to the velvet rule, my skirt had worked its way down my body, ever so gradually, so that now the waistband was resting mid-thigh and threatening to drop completely. I muttered something hastily to Andy and parked my bum back down, grabbed my jacket, and draped it over myself so no one could see.

I knew it was probably too late to save my dignity entirely, but I had to do what I could, right? The poor people in the same row had no idea why I'd stopped, and why they couldn't get out, but I managed to squish back in my chair enough to let them past. When I was finally convinced there was no one left behind us, I threw my jacket on the ground as I stood up, and before Mr Morgie could even blink, my skirt was back to where it should be, and I could hold my head high again.

It was only when we were walking out of the auditorium that I saw the shadows moving upstairs, high up, and I realised there was still one person who could have seen me. That same person who made sure the film ran in the projector room. The same person I saw as we walked out, stifling a laugh and giving me a knowing look. I don't know what he thought we'd been doing, but I do hope he used his imagination to its potential.


I could also tell you about the sleep-walking on holiday in Spain, when I nearly ended up in a taxi in my skimpy nightdress. I could tell you about flashing a boy, unintentionally, when I was 13 years old, and giving him an eyeful he'd never forget. I could even relay the story of very nearly catching my parents 'at it' in the living room when I returned home early one night (my dad hopping around the room frantically trying to put his trousers on the right way round). But, I'll leave those ones for now. Or forever. Details aren't important.

Just don't forget the velvet rule, girls, and be careful what you think about as you'
re drifting off to sleep in a drunken stupor ;)

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