Perspective

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Perspective

It’s ALL a matter of perspective right?

You know, when you are seeing things one way, but then some light gets shed and your perspective shifts and perhaps things are not the way that they seemed?

I’ve had some deeply defining moments in my life, where my perspective was critically flawed.

You know. Like that time when I was in the choir that I wasn’t in.

I’m sure you’ve all had that experience, where you end up on a stage in front of hundreds of strangers unexpectedly and you start to sing?

I was 14, so not at all hormonal and self-conscious. I was visiting an old church in Adelaide where my friend was singing in a choir. I was excited to see her, and so I raced up to say hello to her before the performance and wish her luck. We no doubt giggled and frolicked or something that sounds like girls from an Enid Blyton novel, I can’t really remember. After we said our hello’s we were ushered into the church (because in church you usher). How exciting, the performance was about to start!

We rushed excitedly through the church shaped door (because for some reason old church architects thought that the windows doors and walls all had to have the same pointy top). I sat next to my friend.

I’m not sure how long it took me to look up from where I was sitting and realise that sitting with my friend was not a good thing.

Perspective, and possibly bowel contents, successfully shifted. Heat rose from my chest and my eye started twitching as the realisation hit me. I had entered through the church shaped door into the choir stalls at the front of the church.

I was… in… the choir.

Oh Dear.

Now at this point a normal person would simply realise their error, get up and leave. But for some unexplained reason I decided that it would be prudent to add a freeze option to my fight or flight response. So froze I did.

I sat there. Dumbstruck.

My friend cast me a questioning look. I shrugged my shoulders. Now, it’s not like this was a big choir, there were maybe 20 people in it, so there was no hiding me.

The organ commenced.

The choir master stood up, hands poised, she scanned her vocal prodigies. As her gaze fell upon me her forehead creased, her neck stiffened and the pointy tips of her eyebrows clapped together like a high five so full of friction it could start a bonfire.

WTF... (why the face?)

Ever the professional, she didn’t miss a beat. Turning her palms up she instructed the choir to stand. So I stood (I mean what was I going to do? Sit?). In a flurry of hand waving the song commenced.

So, I sang.

Well… I pretended to sing. I didn’t know the song so I contorted my lips in a way that resembled someone dribbling profusely after recently having a tongue piercing.

Needless to say I was unconvincing.

Eventually the song ended.

Blessed relief. I finally came to my senses and realised that if I moved my legs they would carry me away from this nightmare. So I got up and left.

The End.

Ps. Sorry to anyone who was hoping for something slightly deep and meaningful :)

Awkward Moment #2 When you should leave poking to Facebook

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You know you are old when you attend the wedding of your page boy *gulp*
 
But there you have it, I have sun spots on my hands, my lipstick is running into the cracks on my lips, and it won’t be long before I start tucking a hankie into my bra. I’m just that old.
 
So off I went to enjoy the celebration of this child turned man and his delightful wife. They live in Adelaide, which is the planet I originate from, the land of stobie poles, Fruchocs and malls balls.
 
I arrive filled with joy as I watch a beautiful couple commit themselves in holy matrimony.
 
It was a glorious ceremony, followed by a fun filled reception! As is tradition, as the bride and groom were leaving the reception all the guests lined up facing each other, with hands raised we formed a tunnel for the lovely couple to leave through. I was near the end of said tunnel and because the couple were ridiculously friendly and popular the journey through our tunnel of love took some time. My old bingo wing arms were failing and so the tunnel, to be honest, lost some of its majesty.
 
It’s here that I need to confess that I’m not much of a social kisser. I know, you were wondering, I thought it important to inform you. You’d think that being a hair stylist I would be all over the air kiss, but alas, I hate it.
 
As our lacklustre love tunnel lost more of its height the newlyweds were forced to crouch down and pretty much back their way out.
 
I’m not sure if it was my nerves about the impeding social kiss, or the 2 lemon lime and bitters I had, but when the groom was finally in view I decided the most sensible course of action was, clearly, to reach out and pinch him on the bottom.
 
*oh dear*
 
I reached forward, with slightly too much gusto, and instead of intended pinch, my advancement swiftly became what could best be described as a poke up the butt hole.
 
I quickly retreated and spun around to see a group of guests suitably aghast at my behaviour!
 
*feeling frightfully foolish*
 
Keeping in mind that I was a visitor to the state, I sought what little comfort I could in the thought that I would be leaving the state the next day.
 
I then uttered the most coined phrase of my life “how embarrassing”.
 (Just ask my husband, if this is quite possibly maybe ok yes it was what I muttered in response to his marriage proposal)
 
I then raised my bingo wings including my now tarnished finger towards the heavens in the hope that the tunnel of love would consume me, and as said poked bottom backed passed me I looked further into the tunnel and saw the groom.
 
And then the realisation hit me.
 
I hadn’t poked the groom up the butt hole…
 
I had poked the photographer…
 
Swallow me up now.