Don't you hate embarrassing dirty little secrets (with fairy tale endings)?

I missed Shelle's Don't You Hate it When contest. TAMNIT! I can't beleive it! Especially since I am the queen of hating it.

Like don't you hate it when you're sitting in a ward council meeting on Fast Sunday and it dawns on you that you smell like bacon?

And don't you hate it when people drive the speed limit? (I don't mind if they drive the speed limit behind my back, just don't drive the speed limit in front of me.)

And don't you hate it when you store your canned fruit behind your V-8 so you have to drink 48 cans of V-8 just to eat one bowl of peaches?

So now Shelle is having a Dirty Little Secret Day but dirtiness in general makes me feel so . . . dirty.

Shelle, can I combine my Dirty Little Secret and my Don't You Hate It When and still win your contest, even though I missed the silly deadline? I really need to win Emily's beautiful painting.

I WILL stop following you if you say NO!

My entry could also count as an embarrassing moment if you want to start a MEM contest.

Or maybe you and Emily can work out a special prize for the Most Embarrassing Don't You Hate It When Dirty Little Secret.


Here's my entry for Shelle and Emily's new MEMDYHIWDLS contest:

WARNING! It's dirty. And gross. And embarrasing. But it does have a fairy tale ending, if you're into that sort of thing.

............................

Don't you hate it when you're 17 and you're in love with the most popular basketball player in the school.


But it's impossible to get his attention because you live in the ghetto so you think you're ghetto . . .

UNTIL . . .

your fairy godmother sprinkles pixie dust on you and turns you into a varsity cheerleader.

PETTY, I know!

But for a 17-year old ghetto-gurl, turning into a VC is enough to make you feel like you're someone. At least someone worthy of catching the eye of your favorite varsity basketball player.

Every morning during the summer your favorite VBB Player is in the gym shooting around. And every morning you're in the same gym shakin' your booty with your VC squad.

You begin working your angles and he notices you. You're sure of it. You swear he's watching you out of the corner of his eye.

Especially on this one particular day in August.

You're wearing your short plaid shorts even though you're on your . . . comma. But you don't know you're on your comma until half way through cheer practice when you take a potty break.

Luckily you catch it just in the nick of time. Still, it's a problem because at that moment you don't have access to anything to deal with your comma.

So you do the only sensical thing. You grab a bunch of toilet paper and trouble shoot before going back out to the gym to work your magic.

And work your magic you do.

And you just keep working it without any consideration for the laws of physics and gravity.

Several roundoff back handsprings later it's time to make your exit. You saunter past your favorite VBB player with a coy grin.

He's paying you particular attention and you're flying high on the wings of love . . .

UNTIL . . .

one of your fellow cheerleaders say's "Ewww, dummy, what's that?"


"What's what?"


"That red thing hanging out of your shorts."


Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!


The moral of this dirty little secret?

You can take the dummy out of the ghetto, but you can't take the ghetto out of the dummy.

AND . . .

Sometimes ghetto-gurlz do win.

FYI, that basketball player married that ghetto dummy.

And they lived happily ever after.

So there!

(Well they're trying to live happily ever after . . . for the most part.)

Thee End!



P.S. Did I win?




P.P.S. You should check out Springrose's Don't You Hate It When entry. It's hee-heelarious.


P.P.P.S. Iwa, don't let Danny Boy read this. I don't want him to think I'm a dirty dummy.