Did I Really Just Do That?

I’m no stranger to embarrassment, and whether he likes it or not, neither is my husband.  In fact, for us, the act of being embarrassed has nearly become second nature. If one of us isn’t making a fool of himself, then the other one probably is. We kind of figure that the humor that we bring to our marriage from our innate silly behavior is at least in part the glue that holds us together.

The other evening it didn’t take long for me to discover that the role of the village goofball had fallen to my husband. After an afternoon of driving from one business to another, calling on customers, greeting administrative assistants and warehouse managers and CEO’s, no sooner had my husband wandered into the kitchen to sample our upcoming dinner cuisine that he started to chuckle. Naturally I became curious.  He continued to laugh as he explained. Around noon he began to eat his lunch out of his lunchbox. One of the items inside was a container of yogurt, but he had no spoon. No big deal. He peeled off the top, tipped his head back, and with one eye on the road he consumed his treat. As he neared the last of the yogurt he tapped the bottom of the cup, sucked down the remaining goop, put everything away and went forward with his day. It wasn’t until nearly the end of the afternoon that he looked into a mirror and realized – he had a glob of blueberry yogurt nestled contentedly inside of his mustache. I’m sure he made quite an impression on folks that afternoon. I wonder how many spent the day wiping a hand across their own faces in hopes that he’d wipe his.

This blogsite contains an earlier entry about some of my own embarrassing experiences, Embarrassing Experience Number One, which I recently realized I never continued with Experience Number Two. And in light of my husband’s recent faux pas, this seemed like a good time to do my first follow up.  I’m assuming there will be more, since I really do tend to attract embarrassment like the ice cream man attracts little kids.

Embarrassment is a part of life.  And I tend to believe that the more you put yourself out there, the higher the chances are that mortifying experiences will come your way.  Of course sometimes we put ourselves out there when we really shouldn’t.  Like the times we’re in the grocery store and without any warning a little gas bubble develops deep within the recesses of our bowels.  I know I’m not the only one who’s experienced this phenomenon. If it’s me I’ve been known to make a mad dash for the paper towel aisle, because it usually contains the fewest number of shoppers. Upon arrival I will casually feign interest in some obscure item and quietly let one go, hoping and praying it’s silent and odorless. But, as often happens, just as I release people somehow manage to come out of the woodwork and flood the area. Of course that’s the time that the offense might be silent, but usually tends to be deadly. The smell emanating from the nether regions of the offender makes nearly everyone within a twenty yard radius start to gag.  I’ve got to admit, that’s a great time to have a little kid around. They can easily take the blame with a disapproving look from a parental eye.

And then there are occasions where embarrassment occurs because you have stuck your neck out for the good, or so you’ve told yourself.  I often find myself in situations that call for someone to go first.  Someone needs to be first to get out on the dance floor, someone needs to start the happy birthday song, etc. Inevitably someone always needs to be the first one to take the plunge and be the one to make an ass out of him or herself.  And oftentimes, it’s either me or my husband who takes the bait.

Fortunately embarrassing moments, in one way or another, generally turn into moments of laughter. They become a point of humor used to lighten up a situation or they simply provide a story to tell in order to make another person chuckle, like the yogurt on my husband’s face, or the toxic gaseous release in the middle of the grocery store.

Ah well, there will be more embarrassing moments to come and more to share, of that I’m sure.  Beware of the paper towel aisle and the man in the truck sucking on his yogurt while driving down the freeway.

My Alter Ego

Every once in a while the goofiest thing happens when I’m alone and left to the follies of my own imagination – I find that I am possessed with new and exciting talents as my alter ego consumes me. I turn into a much sought after speaker and book writer, occasionally I’m the great communicator and know just the right words for any and every situation, there are moments when I’m a champion Olympic skier, and most often I turn into this singer with an incredible voice and a fan club full of millions of groupies.

Most of my greatness occurs when I’m alone in the car, especially when my drive is longer than fifteen minutes – not unusual for where I live. And the talent of the moment is dependent upon my mood and my current life circumstances.  The writing and communicating and skiing usually are a result of a recent incident or an upcoming event. Especially if I’ve just sent my novel to a publisher, or I’ve got to sit down with someone and hash out a difficult problem. Or, on the flip side, my trip to excellence happens after I have tackled a tricky issue and I’m now obsessed with reviewing the conversation with the person and coming up with all of the great and motivating things I should have said.

But a good eighty percent of the time, my gift is not any of the above mentioned aptitudes.  Generally when I’m in the car the radio gets cranked as loud as possible without blowing out my eardrums, and my vocal cords strive to reach the same caliber as singers and bands such as ZZ Top, Big and Rich, Sugarland, and Alison Krauss.  I pay no attention whatsoever to whether or not I’m on key, instead I let the music fill me and I bellow the words to my heart’s content.

And I know I’m not alone in these bursts of stardom.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve pulled up to a stop light only to glimpse the man or woman next to me totally enwrapped in a concert of their own.  Smiles, tears, anger, love, heartache,… one of those emotions is often written all over the faces of my automotive neighbors as the song in their car is turning them into an amazing singer who can capture the hearts of the masses.

In many respects our alone time really should help us to increase our focus, boost our confidence, and even delve into our emotional and ever-so-

slightly irrational side where glory and adoration reside.  That’s the beauty of that time we spend by ourselves, no matter how we spend it. For me, and for many of my roadway buddies, it’s often all about the song.   And I say good for you and good for me – let the singing commence.

Now I gotta go – my car and my fan club await me.