More than spinach in my teeth, or toilet paper clinging to my shoe, or my skirt tucked into my tights, or lipstick on my teeth, or a dribble of food on my blouse, noticed hours later (all of these things mortifying, by the way), vastly more than all of this, is to catch my myriad grammatical errors.
I usually see it (them?!) the moment I press 'send'. The misapplied apostrophe? The poorly matched tense? They're, there, and their? God save me from...(I'm pinking just thinking about it). And you can just forget about the spelling.
The flush is instant, consuming. My throat first, engulfed in prickly heat. It travels upwards, blooming on my jaw, curling like a voracious vine over my cheeks. It meets itself on my forehead: undeniably, obviously, aglow. My arm swings up to cover my face, to hide my shame.
Fucking? It doesn't embarrass me. I will turn pink though, if we're doing it right.