My name is Mandy. I’m a dork.

At age 29, I’ve embraced the fact that I’m not cool. And really, the non-coolness is quite apparent from my unfortunate junior high hairstyles and big glasses. I wasn’t cool then; I’m surely not now.

I also admit that I have all of the “embarrassment” genes in my family. My brother is the world’s biggest joker—he’s loud, hilarious, and always doing something I find embarrassing. I’m the one who gets embarrassed. He’s the one who comes off as cool. Sometimes I cover my face when watching “American Idol” because I’m embarrassed for the contestant. Last night, I was watching the BBC’s wonderful version of Pride & Prejudice on NPT and covered my face when Mary Bennet was playing and singing at a party simply because she didn’t have the sense to be embarrassed for herself. She’s a fictional character! And I was embarrassed at home by myself with only my dog . . . who didn’t really care.

So, if you get embarrassed about everything and are as self-conscious as I am, you hate doing anything that calls a lot of attention to yourself. Particularly if it’s slightly uncool. Like this morning when I had to borrow my department’s cart to bring in all the deliveries from my Pampered Chef party. And got all kinds of comments from über-helpful people on the elevator. And strange looks as I ran across the roof parking lot at breakneck speeds because it was dang cold and I’d left my coat in my office. So basically, I looked like a dork with my big cart full of Pampered Chef products racing across the parking lot, squishing people in the elevator, and parading through the hallways delivering orders. But then, as previously discussed, I am a dork.

(Now, let me just tell you some high points of the department cart: it’s really fun to play a little game called “cart luge” with. You run and push it as fast as you can, then fling yourself on top of it and glide a few feet down the hallway. It’s hard to steer though, so you might crash into a wall. Or someone. Also, if you have a good friend you trust, seat yourself on the bottom shelf, hold on to the vertical bars tightly and have them to push you as fast as they can. My friend Jason Harlin and I used to do this every time we got sent to retrieve ice for a department party. I got to ride; he pushed. People stared. But it was EXHILARATING!)

P.S.: “Unfinished Business” will return to its former glory as a thoughtful blog shortly. I have something percolating, it’s just not ready to be written yet. 🙂