This is your place to talk about the funny, sad, outrageous things that are happening in your life -- whenever you're ready.
What’s the cringiest thing you’ve ever done? I guarantee I can beat it.
I’m the queen of awkward moments. I’m the only person I know who can genuinely send a stream of wrong-number text messages (real wrong-number text messages, not the ones you send after a few drinks to rile someone up), am clumsy beyond belief so objects seem to regularly fly out of my hands and my legs out from underneath me, and always seem to say the wrong thing.
In short, I’m one of those people that awful things seem to ‘just happen’ to.
But this time, I really made a boob.
They say that the devil makes work for idle hands, and I can’t be left alone with long periods of unconstructed time without getting myself in to trouble.
I was home alone – and bored. The guy I had just started was away on holiday with his friends and the rest of my mates were too busy nursing hangovers to come entertain me. Having just read an excellent article by XOJane’s Daisy about how to shoot tasteful shots of yourself using your laptop and Photobooth I decided to give it a go and took some shots to send over to him (pants on, not much worse than you’d see on a progressive French beach), and hopefully keep his mind off the tanned and toned honeys who would be flooding his vicinity.
After taking the shots I Instagrammed the fuck out the pictures. I added filters, frames and (luckily) cropped my face out of the shots. One can never be too careful.
Satisfied with my amateur Page 3 Stunna shoot, I emailed him a zip file, much to his delight, and promptly forgot about it.
A few days later I was downloading and editing photos for my first day at a new freelance gig. I had some spare shots of a cool event we’d covered – and as everyone knows, if you don’t upload something cool you’ve done to Facebook, it never happened – so I uploaded the album to my own personal page and went into a meeting.
I did think it was odd that my mobile phone was vibrating like a washing machine on a spin cycle the whole time I was in there. But assumed my new found popularity was down to the increase in my social standing now that everyone has viewed photos of me physically touching celebrities*.
Until I read the text messages.
Have you ever felt that ice-cold stab of fear in your heart that only comes from realising you’ve made a monumental fuck-up? I had six text messages – all from male friends – asking me if I’d meant to upload topless photos of myself to Facebook.
In a panic, I rushed to my laptop, only to see my sexy shoot displayed across my Profile page and everyone else’s timeline.
It gets worse.
The album had three comments, including one from a work colleague, and my friend’s 14-year-old son had ‘liked’ three of the pictures. Not even in numerical order. He’d gone through and picked out his favourites. Even worse, because the pictures were so obviously styled and Instagrammed, not only did it look like I’d done it on purpose, I looked really try-hard. And while I had cropped out my face from the pictures, I'd forgotten that I was wearing a name necklace in every bloody shot.
My first reaction was to pretty much do this, before realising that slamming my laptop shut only hid the pictures from my view. With my fat fingers numb from shock I was unable to figure out how to delete the album. I tried to delete my Facebook account – but it seems you need a note from your parents, copies of your last three bank statements and to find your own replacement before they’ll let you.
All the while more and more chat windows were popping up from people asking me if I’d lost my mind, if I knew I’d uploaded the pictures, and to tell me that they’d taken screengrabs.
My ex then text me to tell me that my boobs looked faker than they used to.
In the end, I got the album down, but the legacy was thus…
11: Amount of photos uploaded in total
2: Amount of pictures where you could see my nips
12: Number of people (that I know off) have seen pictures of my boobs
3: Number of screengrabs taken of said pictures
4: Total number of ‘likes’ the album got
6: Number of text messages I received telling me about my ‘boob’. None from women. Whatever happened to the sisterhood?!
4: Number of consoling messages I received afterwards saying “could be worse – at least you’re not a minger”
1: number of ‘thank yous’ I received
2: number of phone calls I had to make to friends telling them that if their teen sons had pictures of me stored on their computer, I PROMISE I hadn’t sent them
I Consoled myself with the fact that having started my first week at a new job so horrifically, it couldn’t get any worse.
The next day I walked in on The Voice star Tyler James doing a wee.
Have you done worse? Make me feel better by telling me about your social media slip ups and horrifically misplaced nudie pics!
*Someone who was on Big Brother 4