This is all about toe curlingly embarrassing moments. We all have them; we are human after all, but some of us experience embarrassment more often then others, and that is so fascinating. It is like we have an embarrassometer, and some of us seem to hit 10 on a regular basis.
Many years ago, I arrived home very late, almost asleep before I put my key into the front door. It was the sort of tiredness that makes you want to sleep for a hundred years, only I knew I had to be up again in just five hours. I climbed up the wooden stairs to Bedfordshire, stepped out of my jeans, and flopped into the sheets.
The next morning, shocked by the sound of the premature alarm clock, I flung my zombie state into the shower and dressed, leaving the house without so much as a cup of coffee because I had chosen sleep over breakfast (I would now do the opposite).
I felt quite pleased with myself as I sallied forth in the early morning sunshine. The fresh air started to wake me up. A girl about town. A girl in control. Oh yes, I had some pride in my confident stride…then noticed a lump working its way down the leg of my jeans. Yesterday’s knickers were making their inevitable journey south. My frillies made an appearance at the bottom of my trouser leg, in broad daylight. All I could do was nonchalantly scoop them up from the pavement and stuff them into my pocket.
A friend of mine was at a conference and sitting next to a GORGEOUS redhaired girl who really seemed charmed by him…he was thinking how he could ask her out for a secluded lunch or even dinner…she leaned close and whispered, “P is such an interesting speaker, isn’t he?” My friend leaned closer still, and thinking to amuse, said; “But WHO is that chinless little character up on the platform? He looks a tho’ he’s worrying about the size of his penis!”
She leaned away, and forty degrees of frost descended as she answered:
“That’s my husband.”
Things have not improved with time. As we were leaving the beach last weekend, another car arrived, and Alex’s friend jumped out. I thought the dad was the landlord at a pub we sometimes go to. Admittedly, I have not spent much time staring at either the dad or the landlord, but they really do look quite similar.
The dad waved enthusiastically, and I waved back, and asked if he would be at the pub later, as we’d definitely be going. He looked confused, but then men so often do… He said he wasn’t sure, and I made some sort of silly joke about having a night off. He looked even more confused, but smiled broadly, and I drove off.
My son raised an eyebrow, and asked me what that was all about. I explained I was just saying hello to the landlord of the pub. My boy put me straight.
Now his friend thinks I fancy the dad, and says he and Alex can be stepbrothers. AND the boys haven’t stopped teasing me. And I haven’t been this embarrassed since I farted monumentally in a yoga lesson, and that was nearly twenty years ago.