The four most dangerous words in the English language:  I can do that.  They are especially dangerous when I hear them come out of my mouth.

It’s that type of thinking that led me to sign up for  StoryTime at the Cactus Cafe at the Texas Union on the campus of the University of Texas at Austin.  StoryTime at the Cactus Cafe is an event sponsored by KUT, the local NPR radio station. The event opens with two featured story tellers followed by those who signed up to tell a story.

That was me.  In front of a microphone, in front of an audience.  An audience that was not an at-the-office meeting, not a captive audience where they had to be there.  No, these people were there voluntarily.  And so was I.

I heard the announcement for the event on a Saturday while driving.  At the next red light, I wrote myself a cryptic note (Cactus Cafe), put it in my purse and forgot about it.  I found the note Monday morning and looked it up online.  The next event was that upcoming Wednesday.  Each story teller gets a maximum of five minutes, they said.

That’s when I heard myself say:  I can do that. Had I ever done anything like that?  No.  Had I even thought about doing something like that?  No.  But as soon as I heard about it, I wanted to do it.

I chose one of my blog posts for my story, the one about a bad first date. I practiced with one of my friends at work and he timed me:  4 minutes, 10 seconds.  I was ready.  Hubby and two friends went with me for my story telling debut.  I signed up to be first.  Yes, first.  If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it right.

I saw that both of the featured story tellers adjusted the height of the microphone.  I don’t know how to do that.  Yes, yes, I’d seen it done a million times on TV, but I never had to do it myself.  I didn’t want to waste any of my precious five minutes on trying to adjust it and then have it fall apart or something.  However the microphone was positioned when I walked up to it, that’s how I was going to use it.  I was ready to bend down and lean over sideways, had it been too short. I was ready to stand on my tippy-toes, if it was too tall.  Fortunately, the featured story teller just before me left it at a usable height.

I took a water bottle with me, in case my voice vanished.  This happened in one of my college literature classes.  The professor called on me to read a passage from a book.  I started out fine, but I was so nervous that my voice started squeaking around the third sentence.  By the end of the paragraph, it was a minuscule croak.

I got up on stage, put my water bottle on the stool and looked out over the audience.  I could not see a thing.   The stage lights were so bright, my vision stopped a few inches past the microphone.  That didn’t matter. I told my story.

I’m happy to report I did not not lose my voice.  I did not forget my story.  I did not mumble.  When they flicked the lights at the 4-minute mark, I had about two more sentences and I was finished.  I’m very happy with my story telling debut.  We stayed for the whole show and enjoyed all the stories.  Well, most of them.

Maybe this is the beginning of a new career, I thought.  Delusions of grandeur danced in my head.  If Ellen DeGeneres goes on vacation and needs a guest host, I would be available.  The next time Carol Burnett came to town, I could open for her. Alas, no talent scout chased after me as I left when the show was over.  I went to work the next morning, as usual.

Shortest. Career. Change. In. History.

Hubby recorded my story telling debut on his smart phone.  You can’t see me so well — I’m the glob of light at the microphone — but the sound is pretty good.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26LZAU5ceBI

Ellen, Carol!  Call me!