For the sixth straight year, October is Dining Month on OnMilwaukee.com, presented by Concordia University. All month, we're stuffed with restaurant reviews, delectable features, chef profiles and unique articles on everything food, as well as the winners of our "Best of Dining 2012."

We're talking a lot about eating on OnMilwaukee.com this month being that it's Dining Month and all, but today, I was thinking about eating words, not food. I started thinking about the expression "eating my words" because my son has been very focused on hearing stories from my life during which I felt embarrassed.

He has only recently realized what it means to get embarrassed, and, like all of us, finds it particularly unpleasant. He is fascinated with the feeling at this point, and soaks up any story I can tell him when I've embarrassed myself somehow. (There are many.)

I realized every story I told him involved me saying something stupid and winding up wanting to grab a spoon and shovel the words back into my stupid mouth. So in honor of Dining Month – and my son's recent enchantment with the issue – I will share some of the most embarrassing moments I have encountered.

The most embarrassing comment I've witnessed to date did not, thankfully, come from my mouth. It was said by my coworker when I worked at the YMCA and she asked a member after her workout when her baby was due. This would be a friendly, fair question if the woman were pregnant – but she wasn't. I have never in my life felt so emotionally uncomfortable and I felt so badly for both of the women. The heavy-set-but-not-pregnant woman was clearly pissed and crestfallen, whereas my coworker was just mortified – so much so she had to take a break with her head on her desk. (People, people, never ask a woman if she's pregnant unless you are actually witnessing the birth).

I've said plenty of words that I wish could have been edible, as well. About 10 years ago or more, I went to see a one-man performance at a local cabaret about an African-American musician. The show was excellent, and after the performance, the actor came out and conducted a question-and-answer session with the audience.

I asked the actor, in front of the audience of at least 75 people, how he prepared for his role being that he wasn't a musician or African-American in real life. The actor instantly took offense to my question, both with his body language (he actually took a step back and put his hand over his chest) and then said flatly, "I am African-American."

The audience was completely silent. It was particularly uncomfortable because my idiotic comment revolved around race. I know better, usually, than to bring up race or politics in any context around a roomful of strangers. Duh.

I simply had no idea the man was African American due to his very light hair and skin. I feel like the biggest muttonhead on the face of the planet. I truly wanted to eat my words, fall into an abyss, croak.

Here's another moment when I could have scarfed down my words, and my kids words, in a swift gulp if it had been an option.

After my son's first day of school a few years ago, he was smitten with his new, male teacher. He started asking me questions like, how old is his teacher? What is his favorite color? Does he have kids? Is he married?

Finally, after his last question about whether or not his teacher was married, I said, "You know what, I really don't know. You need to ask your teacher."

The next day I brought him to school and while he was taking off his coat he called across the hallway to his teacher, who walked up next to us.

"Mr. Mike," my son said. "My mom told me to ask you if you were married."

Both my face and the teacher's face became pencil eraser red. I wanted to explain the context of the comment, so I started blabbering, making it worse. I wanted to convey, somehow, that my son was partially right, but that even though I was a single mom at the time, I wasn't hot for teacher.

Needless to say, it was a long year and conferences were never comfortable.