The title from this describes an actual moment in my life.


Back in the day, I attended youth dances at my church. It was the thing to do on a boring Saturday night and I’d live for those moments. It was the closest I got to boys during my teenage years because regardless of how unfashionable, ugly, or overweight I was, I would get asked to slow dance.

The key to getting asked was to place yourself nearby and to catch the eye of the guy you wanted to ask you. If he was a friend, he’d oblige. If he was a random guy…

At the church building, there was the cultural hall or the hub of the dance. Just past some sliding glass doors was a beautiful patio where we could wander and relax and maybe cool off (you know… lots of teenagers, no ventilation, sometimes going outside is necessary). That’s where myself and a couple of friends found ourselves while a boring song played. (It probably wasn’t boring. In fact, we probably loved it the first 20 times we heard it. But then it got old after the 30th time.)

Well, a slow song came on and I wanted to get my chance at dancing with a couple of guys. I decided to find that perfect place and head back in. As I approached those glass doors, I thought: It looks a little dark. I wonder if someone closed the glass door. Maybe I should put my foot out and test to make sure I don’t run into it. And then… Nah. I couldn’t be the door. It’s just darker because it’s a slow song. 

Alas, the door was closed. I ran directly into it and bruised my noise (and my pride) with a loud BANG.

Consider this a reenactment of said event:

The good part was those handsome cute boys came rushing out to check on me. So they didn’t dance with any of the girls who might have been my competition.

I call it a win-lose. I won because they didn’t dance with those girls; I lost because the door gave me a bruised nose (and ego).

I hope that I’ve become less awkward (unlikely).