like that time when i was in 4th grade and i had a guy primary teacher.
he was cool & probably brought us sugary confections.
one day i woke up and i felt these, ahem, little lumps on my chest.
my mom thought they were boobs. but we went to the dr's anyways.
4th graders don't have boobs.
anyways, so i go the dr and guess who the dr is?
my primary teacher.
so he felt my "lumps" and declared that they were, indeed, boob seedlings.
i was a growing woman who was finally becoming self-aware.
of my primary teacher.
i was and still am scarred for life, thank you very much.
if my mother is reading this, IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT.
or how about that other time in primary where i had just moved to california
and didn't know anybody in the teeny congregation that was sharing time.
and they were all waiting.
waiting for me to call on someone to help us with an activity.
the blood rushed into my face and i could feel my breath getting shorter and quicker.
i got that tingly feeling that goes through your whole body when you get really nervous.
then i saw one of my sister's friends in the front row.
so i called on her.
she looked at me like i was satan, and the sharing time leader says "no, she doesn't want to do it. pick someone else."
and i believe i started crying because i just didn't know anyone and didn't have the thought of simply pointing to someone and saying, "you, blue shirt, come help."
it was horrific.
let's not even mention that time in primary where we were learning the song of samuel who said within 5 years a night would be as day.
i thought i was soooooo smart that i knew who samuel was, so i opened my picture book of mormon and went right to the page of samuel on the wall not getting hit by arrows.
"it's the same guy!" my little brain barely comprehended.
i mean, his name was samuel.
i felt as if i needed to motivate the crowd, like showing them who they were singing about would bring on the hallelujah chorus, and rays of sunlight would shine into our primary room.
so i stood on my chair and held the book high above my head, showing everyone exactly who samuel was.
except it wasn't.
my teacher came over to me and said, "oh honey that's not the samuel we're singing about!"
and it was like i knew it all along, but i immediately got defensive.
me and my 'i'm always right' self was like, "oh i knew that. i was just trying to read the book while it was above my head."
i hate it when i'm wrong.
or that time when i was too embarrassed to sing out loud, so i would whisper the song into my best friend's ear
or that time when i talked to my teacher and told him all about my testimony and realized that he was deaf in his ear that i was speaking to
or all the times i was being SO reverent and they NEVER picked me to be the reverent child at the front of the room
or that time we were visiting my grandma and grandpa in california, when my sister and i stood at the front of the room, arm in arm, and they asked us who we were visiting. i smartly replied with a "george and linda" and everybody laughed at me
and that time during primary testimony meeting where my sister went up and started praying instead of bearing her testimony.
if my children make it through alive, i'm going to be very impressed,
because i almost didn't.