Our town's new library was opening soon, and I'd heard about an open mic performance the library staff was planning for the local teens. Being, you know, absolutely off my nut, I decided to do something a little different – instead of reading a poem or short story like the other kids, I decided to DANCE. Party like its 1999. Shake my groove thang. Whatever.

So, I practiced. Danced like I'd never danced before, starting a week before my performance. And, of course – I would have to wear heels. When will I *ever* learn?

I had most of my costume picked out waaaaaaay beforehand, but a small crisis arose when I realized I didn't have the kind of headband I needed to hold my hair back. AAAAHHH! DISASTER! Hence the last-minute trip to Drug Emporium to get what I needed – I hoped.

The open mic arrived, and I was one of the last people to perform. I prayed to God my headband would hold – I'm the type to swing my hair around – but alas, no. It went flying off my head, and that wouldn't have been so bad, but it got tangled in the tips of my hair. I was forced to reach behind me, grab the offending piece of metal, and chuck it "backstage." Oops.

Friends who saw the performance later told me it looked choreographed or planned, though to this day I doubt that's true. Fortunately, the experience didn't permanently scar my ego, and it scored low on the "embarrassing stuff I've done" scale. I also learned one needs to pick her hair accessories *very carefully*. Ah well…better luck next time.