Diabetes Champion

Embarrassing Moments on the Porch

Suzanne J. Swiney, Author

Hi, I’m Suzanne—and this is Midlife Misadventures, where I document all the real, ridiculous, and occasionally mortifying moments that come with being a Christian empty nester in her 40s (okay, fine—late 40s) living with one husband, two opinionated dogs, and no shame left.

I used to think these were just for laughs at home. But lately? I’ve been wondering—why keep them to myself?

Midlife is weird. It’s unpredictable. It’s hilarious in ways no one warns you about. One minute you’re working out like a boss, the next you’re explaining to your dogs why barking during your solo dance routine is rude. Somewhere in between, you realize: this stuff needs to be shared.

So here I am. Telling the stories. Embracing the awkward. Writing the moments that make life a little lighter—even when I look like a yoga dropout with questionable music taste.

Because maybe, just maybe, someone else has wanted a redo at 11:00 am. And if not? At least you’ll get a laugh.

Just the dogs and I dancing on the porch

This morning around 11 a.m., it was a cooler 78 degrees—perfect porch workout weather. We’ve got a great view, I was feeling a little hyper, and I thought, Why not? So I threw on some yoga pants and a t-shirt that was definitely too tight. Still dripping from the shower, no makeup, wet hair. Basically: a freshly washed mess.

I turned on some ’90s workout music to chase a dopamine high—because obviously—and hopped on the rebounder.

And then it happened. The moment I can never come back from.

“The Macarena.”

You know I couldn’t resist. I jumped off the rebounder and went full-throttle into the dance. Just me, the rhythm, and my two dogs staring at me like, She’s finally snapped. (They’re used to it.)

Then they started barking. Loudly. I paused mid-hip-swing and said, “No barking!” That’s the command and it usually works, but they are not sentimental beings who remembered high school dance floors.

They barked louder. Like they were warning me.

And that’s when I heard it.
A man’s voice:
“It’s my fault. They’re barking at me.”

I froze—Macarena arms still halfway up—just in time to see the UPS man standing there, holding a package… and absolutely losing it.

Huge smile. Trying not to laugh too hard. Honestly? I think he was embarrassed for me. He probably thought I was old enough to be his mom and wondered what kind of ancient dance ritual he’d just stumbled into.

Normally, I’m super grateful they bring the packages all the way up our hill. But this morning? I wanted to sink into the porch floor and never come back up.

To make it worse, he was extremely handsome. Like “Hallmark Channel meets Amazon Prime” handsome. Great jawline, perfect smile, and now—burned into his memory—me, soaking wet and flailing to the Macarena in spandex. I looked like a homeless person with the nickname Miss Cornbread.

I thought about it all day. Cringed. Replayed it in my head. Cringed again. But finally, I decided: you know what? I probably made his day.

He left laughing so hard I think I gave him a free comedy show with his delivery.

You’re welcome, UPS guy. That package came with a bonus performance.

And, scene.