Clam Chowder, Anyone?

Seven hours late, but I couldn't resist not sharing some embarrassment with all of you....
When I was younger, awkward {ha - let's face it, I'm still awkward}, and more sensitive to moments that could be perceived as embarrassing, I would have probably told you, in a very dramatic way, that my entire day was made up of embarrassing moments.
Today, a much wiser me {ahem} would tell you that I don't get embarrassed nearly as easily as I did in my former years. I've learned to embrace my personality, which inevitably leads to awkward moments. These days, I can usually laugh off anything embarrassing and never think twice about it. However, there are still some memories that are a little too mortifying that leave a mark on your mind. 
I wasn't really sure what to share, for I have many an embarrassing tale. I could tell you about a middle school memory when those cool snap-up pants of the early 2000s got caught on a hurdle during track practice and I forgot to bring shorts to wear underneath them {cue 8th grade football team laughter at my expense}. Or I could tell you about how I sat through a two hour meeting at work just the other day only to realize I had missed one of the buttons to my button-up dress.
But I think I'll share the most traumatic childhood memory I have with you that my friends and family still like to retell on a regular basis. These days, I get a good laugh at it, but for years I would turn bright red if anyone even mentioned it.
When I was a child, I hated seafood. Loathed it. Any critters from the beautiful ocean I played in were off limits to me. I think I can chalk this aversion up to the smell of the seafood counter at the grocery store. Even walking by it now is a little overwhelming for me.

 Though I hated the thought of eating seafood, I always looked forward to our summers at Cape Cod because it was the only place I could get clam chowder {Texas wasn't exactly known for this New England delicacy}. And I looooved clam chowder. I could eat if for every meal during the summer. I would even start to eat my Daddy's if I finished before him at dinner. I associated this meal with happiness and summers spent at the beach.
One fateful evening, I was enjoying a mug of chowda with my family and I made a comment about how chewy the ham in the clam chowder was today.
The ham. In the CLAM chowder.
My family looked at me blankly. What did she just say? I repeated myself, remarking about how I didn't like the ham in this chowder.
They burst out laughing. For a few minutes, they didn't have the heart to tell me, the hater of seafood, that I was eating clams. Then again, their uncontrollable laughter may have been the reason why I sat in puzzled silence. Finally, my mother said, "Sweetie, that's not ham. You're eating clam chowder. Those are clams."
Wait, what?! I'm eating seafood?! Idiot.
I immediately pushed away my bowl and maybe shed a tear or two at the fact that something I had been eating {and thoroughly enjoying} for years was something I vowed to hate. It scarred me...for about 10 years, to be precise. I didn't touch clam chowder from the age of 10 until I was 20. 
This tale is a legend in my family, and someone always brings it up at some point during the summer, especially when there is a new audience.