Which is the most embarrassing moment that you’ve, but that you have yet to mentioned to anyone?

Sitting at my slanted desk, I pushed a #2 pencil up to the top. When it reached the peak, I released it, causing the hexagonal writing implement to lightly chatter against the worn pine surface of my sixth-grade desk before landing back in my small hands. Tediously bored, I stared up at the ceiling tiles, absentmindedly rolling the pencil back and forth for what felt like an eternity. Lost in thought, I pondered the typical queries of a preteen mind. How could I win over Becky Brackgill's heart? Who was actually skilled in writing class? Why did Mrs. McCombee never call on me when I knew the answers? When would summer vacation finally arrive? What qualities did Mary Beth Little see in Josh Devan? And where on earth was my lunch ticket? Engrossed in these elementary school mysteries, I continued to roll my pencil, relishing in the soft ticking sound it produced. Suddenly, the pencil slipped from my grasp, crashing onto the cream-swirled linoleum beneath my desk. Nervously, I scanned the classroom, ensuring that no one had witnessed my blunder. My gaze then fell upon Mrs. McCombee, who was engrossed in her monotonous lecture. Seizing the opportunity, I discreetly leaned over to retrieve my favorite pencil. Unfortunately, as I shifted my weight, a most embarrassing occurrence took place. You know what I mean, right? The mother of all embarrassing things. A loud, uncontrollable burst of flatulence escaped me, instantly bringing the once bustling classroom to a standstill. Laughter erupted as all eyes turned towards me. Mrs. McCombee, however, swiftly silenced the room, assuring us that passing gas was a natural bodily function and nothing to be ashamed of. I am grateful for her understanding. However, I can't help but believe that Becky Brackgill rejected my marriage proposal because she heard me fart. Forevermore, I will blame my unfortunate flatulence for her decision. Sincerely, Leon.