I'm kinda freaking out right now.
Remember my personal mission bullshit presentation? You may have noticed I never wrote about it.
That's because I bombed.
It was awful. The jokes fell flat, the innuendo was stupidendo.
But at least it was behind me, right?
Wrong. I found out on Friday that my boss signed me up to give my presentation to a small business organization next week. Close to 80 people will be there.
Eighty people! I'll be looking out at this
I can see it now. My sweat will pool in my bra and spill down my stomach and it'll look like I peed on the floor. Or, what if I hyperventilate? Or vomit? Or vomit as I'm hyperventilating and sweating and people will rush the stage and all that'll be left of me is a pool of sizzling mess and they'll throw their chairs in indignant rage and shout, "We thought she was a marketing expert! She's nothing but an impostor!"
Riots. There'll be riots. Car fires and looting. Frail, old people will have to stay indoors. And the stray cats! Who will save the stray cats?
Heh. Where was I?
Ah yes, I need your help. Desperately. Do you have suggestions on how not to freak out while speaking in public? The whole picture-people-in-their-underwear thing doesn't work. I need real tips. Real help.
In a real hurry.
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.