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The rate at which a person can
mature is directly proportional
to the embarrassment he can
tolerate. –Douglas Engelbart
The rate at which a person can mature is directly
proportional to the embarrassment he can tolerate. –
Douglas Engelbart
I must be getting old. I was rereading my April column
and found a glaring error, also known as an oopsie. Dear
readers, not one of you emailed me; but maybe you were
being kind and thought I was under the influence of one
too many margaritas. Whatever; my misstatement was an
oversight that to me stuck out like a sore thumb that had
been hit with a sledgehammer. Even my ever-loving loyal
husband who proofreads all my columns before I submit
them had missed it.
“What’s the big deal?” you ask. Well, I’ve written
gambling articles; I wrote a book (After Sybil…from the
Letters of Shirley Mason); I’ve written this column for so
many years I quit counting. But, whatever the project, I
read and reread my draft obsessively because as a
former teacher, I die of embarrassment when a typo or
something stupid gets by me. That happened in my April
column. I comfort myself that maybe you thought it was
an April Fools prank. I was writing about a large Easter
egg that weighed over 8,000 pounds and I wrote, “Did the
kid who got that egg eat the ears off of it first?” Eggs do
not have ears! I can only conclude that I must have had
brain-flatulence which is the politically correct way to say
I had a brain fart. It happens from time to time and each
one stinks and greatly annoys my perfectionist
Since I recognized that error in my April column, I have
been thinking about other kinds of mistakes I’ve made.
Some of them cause my face to redden even now when I
relive them. One such event occurred in high school. I
was in study hall and needed to speak to my friend who
was seated behind me at a large table. I leaned back in
my chair a little too far and tumbled over backwards. In
those days we wore large full skirts so I landed on my
back with my skirt over my head. The loud bang when I
hit the floor caused everyone in the room to look at me.
Then, I had to right myself like a turtle on its back, pick
myself up, and face the horrified look of my teacher. I
wanted to throw up, but luckily I didn’t. I swallowed my
indignity, righted the chair, and sat back down while
listening to raucous laughter as it rolled across the large
room. Thank the good Lord my schoolmates quickly
forgot the incident although I never ever will. Also, thank
the good Lord that this was before digital cameras and
cell phones. I can just imagine my less than photogenic
butt living on in cyber space and popping up now and
then on Facebook or elsewhere as an eternal reminder of
my total humiliation.
Until next month, may Lady Luck blow you kisses as you
dance out the door with dollars. Win big. And if you did
ponder as to whether Easter eggs have ears as stated in
my April column, please email me at
homemailbox@roadrunner.com. I’m curious as to how
many of you caught my faux pas. Even if no one did, it’s
still an oopsie.