My church and it's sister (don't ask, I don't understand how building's can have siblings either) were raising money because that's what church's like to do. The great idea was to have a fashion show with antique dresses. My mom was helping organize it, because that's what my mom liked to do, and therefore my friends and I were all asked to be models.

Preparation for this show was very 'exciting'. We were taught how to walk; they obviously thought didn't understand the fundamentals when we accomplished this feat at age two. After the walking was mastered, we graduated to the turn, holding the dress to the side and turning in a big circle. It probably seems a great deal easier than it was; I just couldn't turn left.

I had three dresses to model, which meant that after I completed one set, I had to rush backstage during the intermission and get changed by strangers. There is definately something liberating by having three people strip off your clothes and redress you like an infant. Royalty definately has it made.

One of the downfalls of the planning of this show was the lack of crinalin. For those moderized people, crinalin is the really fluffy itchy crap that is wrapped around one's waste in order to make a dress puff out. Anyway, there were only enough crinalin for the people in each set, so as one girl rushed backstage, the crinalin was ripped off and hastily thrown on the next girl. As this was happening to me, my 'dressers' neglected to recognize the fact that puberty forgot to give me hips. I was pushed out the door onto the stage with crinalin creeping down my legs.

The auditorium was packed, both main level and balconys, not to mention the television camera's front and centre. I began walking bull-legged in a desperate attempt to keep it up. As I did my turn (right handed of course) I tried to pin the crinalin to my side with my elbow. This was difficult due to the bouquet of flowers that every bride seems to carry (what's with that, by the by?).

Part of our routine was after doing our twirl on the stage we walked down the aisle to the back of the auditorium, around and up a second aisel. I must not have been as indiscrete and clever as I thought because an elderly man was waiting for me at the back. Once I reached him he grabbed me and yanked the crinalin back up to my waste. Although a little shocked by his aggression (Grr-AR!) I was thankful.

Alright, this wasn't one of my better embarrassing moments as nothing really did happen. But there definately was potential for disaster. In accordance to my regular bout of unluckiness, this is what really should have happened: I fell flat on my face, forcing the bouquet up my nose, thus producing a gush of blood that stained the antique wedding dress, and upon falling the dress ripped apart, exposing me to both a television and live audience. Maybe this didn't happen because I was in a church.