Embarrassing moments? I know from embarrassing...

grace: n.
1. Seemingly effortless beauty or charm of movement, form, or proportion.
2. A characteristic or quality pleasing for its charm or refinement.
3. A sense of fitness or propriety.
4.
1. A disposition to be generous or helpful; goodwill.
2. Mercy; clemency.
5. A favor rendered by one who need not do so; indulgence.
6. A temporary immunity or exemption; a reprieve.
7. Graces Greek & Roman Mythology. Three sister goddesses, known in Greek mythology as Aglaia, Euphrosyne, and Thalia, who dispense charm and beauty.
8.
1. Divine love and protection bestowed freely on people.
2. The state of being protected or sanctified by the favor of God.
3. An excellence or power granted by God.
9. A short prayer of blessing or thanksgiving said before or after a meal.
10. Grace Used with His, Her, or Your as a title and form of address for a duke, duchess, or archbishop.
11. Music. An appoggiatura, trill, or other musical ornanment in the music of 16th and 17th century England.

This definition brought to you by dictionary.com. I was talking yesterday about my most embarrassing moments. They all have to do with grace, and my lack thereof.

I've mentioned before that I cannot and should not run. Ever. There are 3-toed sloths that look more attractive running than I do. It's a fact, I've learned to live with it. But the fact remains that really, I shouldn't walk, either. It's ugly. Hideous in fact. My darling husband used to compare my walking to our beloved Great Pyrenees, Barney. Who had hip dysplasia and severe arthritis. His hair was so thick that if he got wet, he literally could not lift his ass off the ground. He walked very slowly, and like he had a slinky in his hind quarters. This, apparently, is me. My walking through the office holding a heavy object has caused my boss to stop and point and laugh from afar. I'm not kidding.

So grace is not usually a term associated with me in any way. None of my features are graceful...Audrey Hepburn I am not. I have no chin...and therefore no profile. My ears are misaligned, which means my glasses are crooked, by design. One shoulder is higher than the other. To the point that my sleeves hang funny. My left foot is bigger than my right and both feet are flat. My chest is too large. My smile is crooked. Not crooked in my teeth are nasty kind of way, crooked in a "you can see more gums on the right side of my smile than my left." And not just a little bit. A lot. I have a freakishly large right calf. Once I pointed it out to a couple of people here, they were amazed...I actually measured it and I think it's almost a full inch bigger in circumference. I provide this visual of anatomic irregularity for those of you who do not know me personally. I am a freak of nature. But I do have the best hair I've ever had in my whole life, and that counts for something, dammit.

So my most embarrassing moment. There was a time when I looked ab fab. I was kickboxing 3 time per week. I was tan. I had hair down to my ass. I was a rockstar! It was during the "summer of beer," which I will always remember fondly. Let's reflect on that a minute. mmmmm. beer.

So the Kev-head and I were in our "hiatus" o.k.a. "Kevin needs to get his head out of his ass" summer. (I love you honey!!), and I was on a date. I had never dated this boy before. Hell, he was only the second boy I dated since giving birth to Owen. (the first being the aforementioned frady cat on hiatus) He took me to a jazz club in Chicago. I was dressed to kill, baby! Long black dress with slits up the sides, black heels, makeup (who knew I could wear makeup??) - I looked very presentable. We hit the club and he goes to the bar to get us drinks. Fantastic. I move towards where the music is playing, feeling very confident. One step down...two steps down...three steps down...and here folks, here is where we have our problem. For the record, if you ever go to the Green Dolphin, there are FOUR steps. 1-2-3-4 steps...not three, as I had previously assumed in the dark club. Making this assumption, I didn't anticipate the 4th step...I was anticipating the FLOOR. Which is precisely where I landed as my heel caught the edge of the 4th step...that I didn't see. Yes, face down...spread eagle, in a DRESS on the FLOOR of a Chicago jazz club. Some nice man who saw me fall helped me off the floor. Great. Thank you Mr. Nice Guy. I immediately ran to the bathroom, which sold cigarettes, God love them...and smoked two...or three...I can't remember...but my date was very confused when I finally did come out, hoping that all of the people who had seen me take my nose dive into the lovely hardwood of the club had dispersed and were not still standing there with pity in their eyes. The rest of the evening was fine and obviously Mr. Date wasn't, even though he didn't witness the fall, because here I am 6 years later, married to Mr. Kev-head. Who surely, even if he hadn't seen me fall, would have imitated it and replayed over...and over...and over for the past 6 years. So I guess I should be grateful for something.