I should have danced (much) less this night

For better or worse, I’ve never been one to shy away from oversharing.

I kicked off my publishing career in 2003 by copping to chronic bedwetting in Jane, and followed that up with an essay about crying during a Dove self-esteem commercial. And in late 2011 – just as I fell into investigative journalism – The New York Times Styles section published a confessional essay about my sweaty pits.

You could say that modesty – at least of the TMI kind – isn’t in my toolkit.

That said, I still cringe when I reflect upon my assorted shortcomings.

Especially on nights like tonight when I unexpectedly stumble upon a shoebox full of old photos and am smacked with THIS

That’s me at a middle school dance, “feeling it” profusely sweating. It would appear as though I ‘Walked Like and Egyptian’ and/or did “The Worm” a bit too much, and these poor beauties are paying the price.

Unfortunately for the one on the right – my avowed “dream girl” from grades three thru high school –  this wasn’t the only time I’d drench her…

Years later, when we were freshmen at Boston College, I peed her bed. (You can read about it in my “It Happened to Me” essay for Jane. She’s “Abby Hewitt.”) And though she transferred to another college – in another state – shortly thereafter, I like to believe there was no correlation.


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