Things That Make Me Feel Like I Might Have Been Dropped on My Head as a Baby

The other day I walked into the girl’s bathroom in my dorm and headed into the first stall.  This is the fifth time this week I’ve used this stall in particular.  How do I know this? Because every time I walk into this stall there is no toilet paper.  Why there hasn’t been any toilet paper I have no idea.  The staff is in there every morning at the exact time I want to brush my teeth, so it has struck me as odd every time it’s happened.  Regardless, no matter how many times I take note of the lack of toilet paper, the next time I will always forget and feel like an idiot, sitting awkwardly with no real solution to my problem. 

This shame followed me throughout the day and made me relive the plethora of other times I have felt this similar emotion.  This is the first installment of what will probably be a long string of embarrassment. 

Wearing Red Sweatpants:

My high school colors were red and white.  So, being on the dance team we went for some obvious school spirit and got full bright red warm-up suits to wear over our dance outfits before games and competitions. Practical, no?  If I wanted to wear sweats to school or practice no one blinked an eye because EVERYONE wore red. Much too often.  Well now in college I figured it would be smart to bring this comfy and warm pair of sweatpants with me.  I really like these pants. They have pockets.  For whatever reason, it is practically a Holy Grail rarity to find sweatpants with pockets.  This makes no sense to me because sweatpants are baggy and can accommodate more items, but I digress…

First semester of college I was in a physical acting class where we were required to wear clothing we could move in.  It being a cooler day I threw on my red sweatpants for the first time this year in confidence, and biked to class.  This first day I felt nothing but blissful ignorance as I sped down the sidewalk toward the theater building in the sweatpants and a t-shirt.  This feeling was a lie.  A couple weeks later it got colder, too cold to go out and bike without a sweatshirt.  This was a day that the universe decided I was to look my worst no matter how hard I tried to stop it.  I had no clean sweatpants but my bright red ones.  I was too stubborn and new to the college scene to wear a dirty pair.  This limit was tested when I realized I had no sweatshirt that at all matched bright red.  I  decided against wearing the matching warm-up jacket, but had a minor stroke and thought it would be ok to wear a violet sweatshirt as long as both it and the pants matched the t-shirt  I was wearing.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  There I go down the street in a small violet sweatshirt and bright red sweatpants.  Bright isn’t even a worthy adjective. Glowing.  That is more appropriate.  In the gloom of this fall day, the glow of my sweatpants was even more magnified.  It probably looked like I had dipped these pants in some sort of combination of nuclear waste and whatever chemical is used to make red fireworks.  I’m not exaggerating.  I quickly realized how colorblind I must look and shed my sweatshirt the moment I locked up my bike, even before entering the building.  After hiding the shamefully mismatched sweatshirt during lunch with my friends, I had to suck up my pride and wear it all the way back to my room because it had not gotten any warmer.

I will probably never wear these now-deemed ridiculous sweatpants in
public ever again.