Renée A. Schuls-Jacobson–mother, teacher, accomplished blogger and writer–is running an intriguing series, So Wrong. She wanted us to dig deep and cough up some of our most embarrassing, humiliating moments. Things that actually taught us a lesson. Not surprisingly, my well of embarrassing moments was deep, but rarely did I ever learn a lesson. Please.
Except this one time in the early 1980s when I was mortified beyond belief in front of the boy I really, really liked in seventh grade. It involved much pining and crying. And Reeboks and jean jackets. Also, I might have boogied to The Safety Dance. I made sure to document it all in my cherished diary. (Which is like, totally, like, real and all. Like, Seriously.)
So if you want to take a trip back to the ’80s and experience my unrequited love, you don’t want to miss this story —>Dear Diary, I Hate You. Be sure to check out the other humiliating stories while you’re there. Feel free to leave your own embarrassing story in the comments. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.