Ever been caught with your pants down licking your privates like a cat?  The only reason humans can’t lick their own privates is due to our rigid spines.  Were they any more pliable, men would then be able to reach further south of their own borders...and POOF...no more need for US!  Women would become obsolete.  That would be embarrassing

Sometimes I have a dream where I’m at a party...in the living room of a very attractive home.  I’m dressed chiquely (I’m not so sure that’s a word, but I like it).  All of a sudden, I have to tee tee (that’s the way we were taught to say it in west Texas).  So, I REALLY have to tee tee, and, well, there is a toilet there in the living room, so I sit, spreading my long skirt into a circle around me and begin...hoping that no one sees me, but they carry on like I’m not there pee’ing in the living room at a cocktail party...just as normally as you please.  I wake up before I have to wipe, thank GOD

I wish I could say that I’ve been embarrassed because that would mean that I understand the idea of decorum, but it would be a lie.  Like my hero, David Sedaris, I believe that inappropriate conversations should be nurtured, are there for a reason and provide serious ‘WAKE UP’ moments for the person whom I am embarrassing.  Were I the least bit aware of my own embarrassment, I would have moved to Venezuela a long time ago (no extradition there, right?)

I guess God has a sense of humor because she invented the ‘blush,’ which is a dead give-away when embarrassment unfolds...or if you’re a bad liar.  God also invokes the classic, ‘It’s not my fault,’ when confronted by embarrassment.   This one seems to work for me.  I wish I could say that I’ll stop embarrassing myself and/or others, but it’s an addiction.  What do you want...I quit smoking for the umpteenth time, so throw me a bone here



I still cringe when I remember an embarrassing moment that happened about thirty years ago.  I was at a party in a sprawling adobe house in Santa Fe.  The usual hippies, artists, and American Indian Shaman wannabes were in full attendance.  New Age euphemisms wafted across the Mexican tiled floors and arched doors that opened into large rooms adorned with the requisite leather chairs and really obnoxious Kachina dolls that only seem to collect dust in the crevices of their feather-covered crotches.  But I digress…

I had to go to the bathroom.  I mean really badly.  I had waited too long and went in a frantic search for the nearest powder room.  I found it just off a hallway and entered the large, tastefully done, floor-to-ceiling-windowed bathroom.  I have to say here that I am basically a shy person and back then I was intimidated by anyone who ever met Georgia O’Keefe or even looked like they could quote Gurdjieff.  And there were about five or six people in the bathroom, all of whom fit that criteria to a tee.  One guy was sitting on the counter next to the sink talking to a lady with frizzy hair and a peasant blouse and skirt who was sitting on the toilet seat (it was down).  Two artist-type, thirty-year-old Beatnik guys were sitting on the edge of the bathtub and some long-gray-haired woman with chopsticks in her bun and a stained Kimono was passing the joint

I stood at the door, unable to get the balls to ask these people if they would mind leaving so that I could use the bathroom.  They stared at me.  I stared at them.  Silence.  One of the Beatniks finally spoke, “Would you like for us to leave?”  I hemmed and hawed.   “Um, if you wouldn’t mind,” I said.  The lady on the toilet seat looked a little perturbed as she raised herself up and joined the others as they left for the larger atmosphere of the living room.  She commented to me as I shut the door behind her, “Have you had this problem for long?  You know, it’s perfectly normal to urinate.  All animals do it.  It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

I was mortified.  I worried for years that I had this problem about needing privacy when going to the bathroom and should probably get therapy for it.  Either that or keep a pee-bottle in my car from then on

Now that I am a middle-aged woman and not shy about anything, I wish I could call every one of those people from the bathroom and tell them what assholes they are. I would also like to tell them that they should be embarrassed that they feel the need to hang out in bathrooms at parties and watch people as they piss and defecate

Oh, well, you live and you learn


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