Years ago, I moved from a small town in Indiana to a beautiful town in Vancouver, BC. I had never been anyplace other than Florida and Indiana in my WHOLE life and I was petrified that people in the “city” would find me horribly whiskey tango.

I had heard people make fun of Canadians over the years. It was always the same. No matter what the sentence, they always ended it with, “eh.” Desperate to fit in, I tried it out on everyone I met. “Would you like a Pabst Blue Ribbon or a Bartles & Jaymes, eh?”

Stares.

“Don’t you just love how my yellow Winnie-the-Pooh sweatshirt matches my yellow socks, eh?”

Stares.

Clearly I was not using, “eh” properly. I made a mental note to look into it.

The second week we lived there, our neighbors to the right, Mark and Kim, stopped by and dropped off a bottle of wine. (Real wine people. Not the pop-top kind.) We invited them in and spent an hour or so getting to know each other. I was careful not to use the word, “eh,” and things went well. Over the next month we got to know them. We would have dinner at their home. They would have dinner at ours.

At every get together, they would mention Mark’s mother. They both talked about how young and beautiful she was. They went on and on about her incredible talents as an artist. Kim loved her and would tell us how young she looked and described her long flowing hair and slender build as something she hoped she would have at that age. Over and over we heard how she defied age. How wonderfully spiritual she was and that I just HAD to meet her.

Well. I couldn’t wait. She didn’t sound like anyone I had ever met in Indiana. Except for that one time when I smoked pot and met a whole lot of people that seemed just like how they were describing her. But. Other than that, no one.

December rolled around and we got invited to their Christmas party. “Marlena will be here,” Kim said. “You will finally get to meet her. Mark’s brother will be here too. He is also an artist.”

I couldn’t wait. I put on my best outfit and took special care with my hair and makeup. I had never met an artist before, let alone two. We walked into the party and I grabbed a glass of wine. I was quickly cornered by the “annoying” neighbor to the left. You know the one. She talks non stop about how her four year old is so smart they will surely go to Yale and that they can throw a football like a man and after every sentence they snort and giggle. (Shit. I just described myself.)

Anyway, stuck as I was, I happily accepted a second glass of wine and before I knew it I was two glasses in and Mark’s brother approached with a gorgeous woman on his arm. She was an older woman with long flowing hair. She wore flowy clothes and looked exactly as I had pictured her. I was in awe.

She was exactly like they said, young for her years and she glowed. (Though in hindsight that could have been the wine.) Mark’s brother shook my hand and introduced himself as Craig and he turned to his mother to introduce her, but I took over.

“Clearly you are Mark and Craig’s mother,” I said with exuberance as I extended my hand. “I have heard so much about you. It is such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Stares.

Fuck. Did I say, “eh?” As I was backtracking my words trying to figure out where I had slipped it in, I heard Craig say, “Actually, this is my girlfriend.”

"Eh?"

And THAT people is the single most embarrassing thing I have ever said. In. My. Life.

I ask you. What is that moment that haunts you? Cause we all remember it. Can't forget it. The question is, are you brave enough to share it?

Was your embarrassing moment on someone's answering machine? Mary knows your pain. Check it out at MamaMaryShow.