For years I have been trying to pinpoint my most embarrassing moment. I never had tales of humiliation to submit to the teeny bopper magazines which I read frequently (or at least not truthful tales), and I could never really answer the question when it was posed to me. I mean, of course there was the time that I left my unmentionable drawer open on accident as my friends were visiting my dorm room. And there was the time that I barfed up Nyquil in front of all my friends. And I did trip on the stage in my very first play in high school. But the nice thing about being a relatively self-confident person is that I have learned that laughing at yourself makes most situations infinitely less embarrassing than if you allow it to overcome you with shame.

I am not laughing now. Because I did it. I did the absolutely most humiliating thing in the whole entire world.

I feel the need to defend myself before I even start my story. My old wonderful cell phone, christened Fig Leaf, got sick. He got sick, and since he was new and covered by the warranty, T-Mobile ever so kindly sent me a new phone. The man at the T-Mobile store (who, it has to be noted was wearing: A navy blue pinstripe shirt, plaid pants, a black tie, and brown shoes) transferred my numbers to my SIM card so that they could fit nicely into my new phone without too much hassle. As soon as Carlos V (my new phone) arrived in the mail, I was good to go.
Let me also explain that my boyfriend lives in Virginia. And we try our darndest to only talk on the cell phones at night when it is free for both of us. Unfortunately that means he has to wait until 11:00 for it to be 9:00 my time, which occasionally means some late nights for said boyfriend.
My SIM card does not distinguish a difference between house and cell phone. I am a conscientious person, but my SIM card is not a conscientious SIM card. So one night, when I realized I had something very important that I simply had to tell him at three in the morning his time, I picked up the phone and scrolled to Tyson Earl in my phonebook. Unbeknownst to me, I had dialed his house phone. In terror, I apologized to his mother profusely, hoping that she would buy my excuse that I had simply dialed the wrong number.
But then. But then my friends, it happened again. And this time there was no hiding that it was in fact, I, Sierra Robinson, the most humiliated girl in the entire world that had now successfully dialed, and awoken my boyfriend’s mother, whom I have never actually met. Woe is me.
This may not seem to be the most embarrassing thing in the world to you. But I urge you to give it a try, not one but two nights in a row, and then tell me how you feel. If you can commiserate, please feel free to do so now, in hopes that it will help my cheeks return from their bright red state to a rather peachy hue.