I do not get easily embarrassed. That's not to say that I don't do stupid or foolish things. I have just learned to laugh at myself. And in most cases, I laugh even harder than do the onlookers. Incidentally, if I amused others as much as I amuse myself, I would be quite famous. But the truth is, I am probably considered, at best, a silly goose.

Anyway...

Earlier this semester, some friends and I were playing Scattergories, "The classic fast-thinking categories game!" For those not familiar with the game, I'm sorry--you will have trouble understanding. Just try to picture everyone frantically racking their brains for words starting with a predetermined letter. The beauty of this game is that thousands of words will enter your mind, yet none of them will begin with the letter you need.

The letter in this particular round was F and one of the categories was book titles. "Finally! An easy one," I thought to myself. Triumphantly, I write down my inspiration...

Forty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea

After the timer buzzes and we begin sharing our answers, I proudly announce my book title. I prounounce it with great emphasis, looking forward with great delight to the praises I would receive. And many did I receive.

Then Dave spoiled it all. With absolute disdain, he barked out, "It's TWENTY Thousand Leagues, you moron." At this point, everyone realized he was right, and I was a wee bit embarrassed. By wee bit, I mean that I turned bright red and hid behind my Scattergories tablet.

But when the laughter died down and my face returned to its natural hue, we began to ponder. Wouldn't Forty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea be a fabulous sequel? I might even write it myself. But I might not.