That’s annual with a ‘nu’

You would think I would be over it by now or would have found more self control or better still, would have stopped going out in public. What can I say ... I’m a glutton for punishment.

So where do I start? Imagine Bridget Jones on acid and you have the tip of the iceberg of my long history of embarrassing, cringeworthy stories. Not just stories, my daily life.

The embarrassment is not even limited to one aspect of my life but spans e v e r y s i n g l e genre of my being.

I’m the kinda girl who can slip without ice, fall without a step and land without grace every darn time and here, as they say, are some of my ‘best bits’

Insert *eyeroll*

I started young ... Assembly’s were a big thing at infant school. A daily gathering of the year group. Sometimes the entire school.

We formed orderly lines of cross legged tots, we listened to teachers (can’t for the life of me remember what they spoke about daily?) and had a good old singsong. Not sure if such events still exist? Or follow the same format however they were somewhat of a highlight in the school day.

The very best bit of assembly was the opportunity to be an assembly monitor.

This job was the razzling, dazzling chance to sit at the front of the hall and be responsible for the overhead projector, whose precious cargo were the lyrics for the assembly song *gasp*.

The day came when I was chosen.

Feeling like a movie star, I sauntered to the front of the hall, grey pinafore dress, red cardigan and long white socks and took my place.

Then it struck.

Stage fright.

Also I really, really needed a wee. Like now. Right now.

Frozen in fear there was no way I could ask to be excused to go to the loo, so the only logical course of action, with several hundred pairs of eyes on me, was to scoot towards the overhead projector and to relieve myself there and then.

The relevance of scooting my butt towards the projector? Well, when a large puddle of liquid began to appear (and people noticed - believe me they noticed) initially I acted surprised then (obviously) I blamed the machinery “I think it’s coming from there” I pointed.

We were evacuated from the hall, a maintenance man was called. Somewhat worryingly a shrink was not. I mean there’s a level of premeditation there not often seen in 6 year olds and perhaps therapy at that stage of my life might have saved me?

I can’t even begin with my teenage years... those embarrassments are staying squarely locked and boxed in the vault of my memory bank.

Moving swiftly on to my twenties...

The thing about living with constant embarrassment is, it kinda makes you a tad, well, socially awkward.

And what does a socially awkward person do when invited to their new boyfriends sister’s birthday party? Where said socially awkward person will also be expected to meet all of new boyfriends family and friends? Well, she drinks of course!

I drank and I drank and I drank some more. I mean I probably could have drunk the navy under the table that night. Irrelevant of colour or creed, if it had an alcoholic content I was drinking it.

What goes down must come up.

Luckily there was someone on hand to pick me up when I fell up the stairs, clear the smashed glass when I wiped out a table full of drinks and most importantly hold my hair back when I vomited, multiple times.

She was my boyfriends mother.

The morning after the night before, I was fairly inconsolable. There was really nothing that could be said and no way to make me feel better. The entire guest list knew me by both name and appearance as “the really drunk vomiting girl” and I had to ask my then boyfriend “was I sick on your mum?”.

Those infamous words were captured eloquently on a bright yellow T-shirt, which I was presented with as a secret Santa gift later that same year and pretty much became my catchphrase for that entire (ill fated relationship).

Despite my ever evolving embarrassing moments I did manage to carve out a career (which I quit -oopsey, but that’s another story). Working within the supply chain of a large manufacturing company, I was at one time responsible for a portfolio of 75 suppliers, with a budget of £15million (you’re impressed I can tell).

Additional to my role I had the misfortune of coordinating stock takes within the company. They occurred once a year and took a lot of organising. I had to liaise with various internal departments, plan staffing levels, agree dates with suppliers and report back to senior managers.

Multiple communications had to be sent and these would be sent by email to large numbers of people.

I would check and recheck the times and dates but alas not always the autocorrect on the email subject: *company name* anal stocktake.

Anal, yes ANAL stocktake, not annual.

I didn’t think it were possible to receive that many email replies in one day.

I didn’t realise there were that many anal jokes either to be honest *raises eyebrows*

You would think a girl like me might have given up about now, however these cringeworthy events have been very character building. Additionally once encountered I am rarely forgotten which brings about its own set of opportunities.

Now If only I could find a way to make a living from my embarrassment?? Hmmmmm

Thank you for reading, if you found this entertaining or can relate please feel free to leave a tip ;)