Cupcakes & Tea with Elizabeth

Tag: #story

  • That One Time in French Class…

    That One Time in French Class…

    You know those random memories that pop into your head out of nowhere and make you instantly cringe? That was me this morning on my drive to work. Out of the blue, I remembered one of my most embarrassing high school moments — and honestly, it still makes me laugh and cringe all at once.

    It was 2011, and I was a shy sophomore in my beginner’s French class. At the start of the year, we all got to choose a “French name” to go by for the semester. I picked Zazie (because someone else had already snagged Gigi, and yes, I was slightly bitter about it 😆).

    One day, I arrived to class a few minutes early and asked to use the bathroom. Totally normal, right? But as I’m in there minding my own business, I suddenly hear my teacher’s voice — calling out “Zazie!” in a perfect French accent. I froze mid-sentence (and mid-bathroom break). My first thought? Wait… did she follow me in here? It was so weird that I just stayed quiet, hoping I was imagining it.

    A few minutes later, the bell rings, and I walk back to class, proud of myself for not being late. But the second I walk in, the entire room is silent. My teacher stands up, looks right at me, and asks me to step into the hallway. I was so sure she was about to praise me or something — because that’s what she usually did when she pulled students aside.

    Nope.
    She accused me of lying about being in the bathroom.

    My jaw dropped. I was mortified. I told her I really was in the bathroom, and that I did hear her voice, but thought it was weird and didn’t know how to respond. She just shook her head and said, “No, you didn’t. You need to tell your friends what to do,” before walking back into the classroom — leaving the door wide open for everyone to hear.

    And there I was, bright red, walking back into class like nothing happened. Everyone stared for a second, then the lesson just… continued.

    Now, years later, it’s one of those stories that makes me laugh every time. I still have no idea why she thought I was lying, but I’ll never forget how small that moment made me feel — or how it quietly taught me to always speak up when someone gets it wrong.

    It’s funny how embarrassing moments can turn into lifelong lessons.
    (But seriously — what was that whole bathroom situation?!) 😂

    Do you have a high school story that still makes you cringe or laugh out loud? Drop it in the comments below — misery loves company!

    Drop some of your stories below!

    Recent Posts:

    Easy Irish-Inspired Comfort Recipes for Winter Nights

    Warm up your winter with cozy, Irish-inspired comfort foods. From buttery colcannon and easy homemade sausage rolls to a rich Slow Cooker Guinness Beef Stew, these hearty dishes bring a touch of Ireland to your kitchen. Simple, rustic, and full of flavor — perfect for cold nights and busy days.

    by Elizabeth

  • Reflections from Sweden: My Grandma’s (Mormor) Words and the Vasa Ship

    Reflections from Sweden: My Grandma’s (Mormor) Words and the Vasa Ship

    While in Sweden, I came across one of my grandma’s old diary entries from her own trip decades ago. On a page titled “Comparisons,” she wrote:

    “Comparison:
    In those days, people feared things
    like lion’s faces. We fear things in
    the shape of mushroom clouds — nuclear bombs.”
    ~ June 1986

    She was writing about the Vasa Ship, the 17th-century Swedish warship that famously sank on its maiden voyage and was later recovered and preserved. The “lion’s face” she mentions refers to the carved lion figurehead at the front of the ship — a symbol of courage and power that’s been part of Swedish culture since medieval times.

    Reading her words while visiting the Vasa Museum myself in the summer of 2017 was surreal. It felt like we were sharing a moment across time — her thoughts from 1986 intertwining with my own experiences.

    I remember watching teams of researchers working carefully on the ship, preserving it for future generations. The recreated colors of the Vasa were so vivid and striking — a reminder that history can breathe again when we take the time to care for it.

    Her reflection about fear — how it changes shape across generations — stuck with me. The world she knew was different, yet her words still ring true.

    Maybe that’s the beauty of shared experiences: even when years and oceans separate us, our thoughts and emotions still find a way to connect.

    vasa2

    VASA
    A picture of the lion I took at the Vasa Museum!

  • The Stories That Built Me

    The Stories That Built Me

    “I have great respect for the past. If you don’t know where you’ve come from, you don’t know where you’re going.”
    — Maya Angelou

    Every family has stories that shape who they are, and around Christmas a few years ago, I got to hear some of mine. My parents sat me down and shared pieces of our family history that left me in awe — stories of strength, courage, and quiet resilience that built the foundation I stand on today.

    One of those stories was about my great-grandmother’s sister, who worked down South as a schoolteacher. She was light-skinned and could pass as white — something that came with complicated privileges during that time. Across from the school was a hat shop that allowed white customers to try on hats before buying them. Black customers, however, had to purchase any hat they touched. My great-grandmother’s sister would walk into that shop and try on as many hats as she pleased, knowing she could get away with it. It was a small, almost defiant act — one that spoke volumes about navigating an unjust world with quiet boldness.

    Then there was my grandmother’s father — my great-great-grandfather. He was also light-skinned, with light eyes, and worked as a painter at a hotel. One day, he walked in with the Black maids, and his boss pulled him aside.
    “Why did you walk in with the colored women?” the boss asked.
    My great-great-grandfather simply replied, “Well, they play cards with my wife.”
    The manager, shocked, said, “Your wife? You mean to tell me you’re colored!?”
    “Yes, sir,” he said calmly.
    The boss looked around and whispered, “Look, I like you. You’re good at your job. But don’t tell anyone you’re colored, or we’ll have to fire you.”

    Hearing these stories, I felt an ache — pride mixed with sadness. These were people who carried themselves with grace and strength in the face of injustice. People who worked hard, protected their families, and found ways to keep their dignity intact in a world that didn’t always see it.

    Some might say, “The past is the past — why bring it up?” But I think remembering is an act of love. It’s how we honor the struggle, the perseverance, and the humanity that got us here. Forgetting would mean erasing the very roots that keep us grounded.

    If I could talk to them today, I’d tell them how proud I am — proud of the resilience that runs through our blood, proud of the lessons they left behind, proud to carry their spirit forward.

    Resilience. That’s what created me.

    “You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone’s soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose… That is your role, your gift.”
    — Erin Morgenstern