Mortification
Defn: The act of embarrassing oneself through clumsy, and almost fatal, accidents or incidents. For example, crossing a road and almost getting hit by a black cab that is using the road to make a 3 point turn because you're too busy watching a beautiful man walking towards you so your head is turned away from said cab and you're busy listening to The Rapture screaming about getting "out of the races and onto the tracks".
And to think, I was trying to look graceful, cool even with my cup of coffee and preppy look before class. What's worse? I managed to spill said coffee a little on my coat, thankfully though, coffee doesn't seem to show on my coat. However, my preppy look got a view looks from a group of school kids obviously out on a field trip, and therefore in their cool gear. Each and every single child (they're teens, but I'm allowed to refer to them as CHILDREN) I passed gave me the once over, especially the girls. Each one of them judging me in my fitted blouse, navy jumper, skinny jeans and sneakers, a cup of coffee and a huge bag filled with my crap (well, books, papers, pencils, pens, but they don't know that). Yet each of them watched me, and all I could think of was, "don't you dare judge me you BRAT!"
Why on earth did I start caring about looking good? Caring about whether I make a complete idiot of myself? Or care about whether I am judged or not? Surely in a place as cosmopolitan and varied as London, I should not have to worry about being judged or having to put on a show. Or maybe that's just it. Because I live in London it's expected of me? All I know is, the day I started wearing make up, the day I started taking care of my appearance, that was the end of me. I was never self-conscious, or at least, not to this degree. Maybe that's what my parents were worried about, and on that fateful day, when I was 17 and woke up with the urge to go to class and put a dab of eyeshadow, my mother's sigh of relief was genuine? That she was truly relieved that I was going to take care of my appearance a little more? Maybe try a little harder to look good?
But that's the problem isn't it? You are then in the habit of always having to look good, be it in appearance or in the actions you take. You set a standard that you kind of feel is hard to break, or am I being a little neurotic here? I don't know what it is, but there is always that little something at the back of my head that constantly wonders what other people think, and I'm constantly analysing and predicting what people might think. It's TERRIBLE! I can't believe how self-conscious I've become. And what's worse is that I get easily embarrassed over the silliest things (I'm sure my spelling in this entry will be one of them). But in all honest I realise that I allow things to get to me (in that way) and for some terrible reason, my mind won't let me forget.
*sigh* I digress and therefore have lost my point... if I had one to begin with.
And to think, I was trying to look graceful, cool even with my cup of coffee and preppy look before class. What's worse? I managed to spill said coffee a little on my coat, thankfully though, coffee doesn't seem to show on my coat. However, my preppy look got a view looks from a group of school kids obviously out on a field trip, and therefore in their cool gear. Each and every single child (they're teens, but I'm allowed to refer to them as CHILDREN) I passed gave me the once over, especially the girls. Each one of them judging me in my fitted blouse, navy jumper, skinny jeans and sneakers, a cup of coffee and a huge bag filled with my crap (well, books, papers, pencils, pens, but they don't know that). Yet each of them watched me, and all I could think of was, "don't you dare judge me you BRAT!"
Why on earth did I start caring about looking good? Caring about whether I make a complete idiot of myself? Or care about whether I am judged or not? Surely in a place as cosmopolitan and varied as London, I should not have to worry about being judged or having to put on a show. Or maybe that's just it. Because I live in London it's expected of me? All I know is, the day I started wearing make up, the day I started taking care of my appearance, that was the end of me. I was never self-conscious, or at least, not to this degree. Maybe that's what my parents were worried about, and on that fateful day, when I was 17 and woke up with the urge to go to class and put a dab of eyeshadow, my mother's sigh of relief was genuine? That she was truly relieved that I was going to take care of my appearance a little more? Maybe try a little harder to look good?
But that's the problem isn't it? You are then in the habit of always having to look good, be it in appearance or in the actions you take. You set a standard that you kind of feel is hard to break, or am I being a little neurotic here? I don't know what it is, but there is always that little something at the back of my head that constantly wonders what other people think, and I'm constantly analysing and predicting what people might think. It's TERRIBLE! I can't believe how self-conscious I've become. And what's worse is that I get easily embarrassed over the silliest things (I'm sure my spelling in this entry will be one of them). But in all honest I realise that I allow things to get to me (in that way) and for some terrible reason, my mind won't let me forget.
*sigh* I digress and therefore have lost my point... if I had one to begin with.
Labels: amusing accidents, men
posted by Lunar Chick @ 11:05 pm
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