#2: My First Talk

My next moment of embarrassment worthy of being recorded happened 5 years after the Frazier Incident. When I was twelve I reached the age of graduating from beloved Primary to the eagerly awaited Young Women's. Part of the deal though included giving a talk twice a year for the next six years in the ward. But I had no problem with this--I had been in many speech tournaments and plays and public speaking was just up my alley. Soon enough came the time for me to give my first talk and I was eager to give it my best. I spent 2 weeks preparing my 5-minute sermon on "Faith". I wanted it to be good. Scriptures were scoured, lds.org received visits, and after hours of compilation, I felt like I had created a masterpiece worthy of delivering over the pulpit. 

Sunday came and I took my place on the stand. I was starting to get nervous. Like, need-to-go-to-the-bathroom nervous. (No I did not pee my dress on the stand, for those who are wondering.) I was the first speaker and was having monster butterflies. The minutes passed more quickly than I would have liked, but eventually, D-day came and my moment of execution had arrived. The Bishopric member conducting sat down after announcing the program, and I arose with shaky legs. 

I got to the pulpit, and once I started going, I actually felt alright, my nerves calmed down and I gave my talk. When I sat down, a wave of relief swept over me. I had done it. My first talk. I was sure that the whole congregation had felt the Spirit and had renewed their faith through my carefully prepared words of carefully concocted scriptures and prophet quotes. Then, I felt something brush against my left arm up by my shoulder. I looked. 

Crap. 

My bra strap.

There it was, hanging in its Tree-of-Life glowing white glory down my shoulder where the whole 250-member congregation could see. It had been hanging down, menacingly sneering at onlookers, during the whole talk. I was slightly mortified. Not that this was a new thing--my strap was always falling down because I was still getting used to wearing a real bra. But it had never had the gall to pull a stunt like rear its ugly head in front of such a crowd. And in a place of holy worship for goodness sakes. 

I hurried and put it back into its proper place and brushed it out of mind. When Sacrament Meeting ended, I came off the stand. I had almost forgotten about the whole thing when one of the young women, a year older than I, approached me and inquired, "Hey, did you know your bra strap was hanging down during your talk?" Thank you for providing the lemon juice to the wound my dear peer. When I got to Young Women's, my good friend came up and, as if I needed someone else to tell me, also informed me that my upper underwear had been indecently exposed to the entire Camarillo Second Ward. Sigh. Thank you for the salt.

Well, I'm pretty sure that my ward did not remember a word I said past the second speaker. But at least all of the women were reminded to tighten their over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders, primary aged children got an education on puberty, and the young men got a cheap laugh. You're welcome my dear ward.