6. My most excruciatingly embarrassing moment.

embarrassed-bear

You thought I’d forgotten didn’t you. Well, I am here, at 9.10pm and I am going to tell you my most embarrassing moment.

Only…

I can’t think of what it is.

You see, I’ve worked pretty hard at not being embarrassed over the years. It’s mainly because I’m an awful blusher. I blush when I think about blushing.

I can’t think of any truly mortifying experiences so I must either be excellent at avoiding situations where there’s potential for me to do something stupid.. or I’ve been lucky.

I’m also all about risk management. I have never tried karaoke. I only dance in big crowds and with a wine (or two, let’s be honest) on board. I’m slightly obsessive at checking my fly is up / skirt is not tucked into underpants / toilet paper is not stuck on shoe.

Does this mean my life’s most excruciatingly embarrassing moment is still out there, waiting with a calculated smile for me to bump into it a few years from now?

But I know, I know, you clicked on this post to read something embarrassing.

Confessions

So here is someone else’s embarrassing story. When I was in my teens a friend and I picked up another friend from the airport. While our parents were milling around checking out the Women’s Day in Whitcoulls and staring at the arrivals screen we decided to go for a walk. We strolled around the terminal, got bored in about three minutes, and then decided to sit on the seats that lined one wall. The plane was late, so we walked some more, looked at the planes and pretended we were about to go somewhere amazing. The friend eventually arrived and we all walked through the crowds of families and business people to baggage claim then out to the car. Nothing embarrassing there, right? Wrong. About ten minutes after we walked in the door I noticed something stuck to the butt of her jeans. It was long and white, almost like a slim envelope. It had brownish reddish stuff on it.

“Hey, what’s that?” I asked as I approached. She craned her neck and looked down. And we both knew. Our eyes locked in a moment of pure horror.

It was a used sanitary pad. It was someone else’s used sanitary pad.

I will give whoever left that pad sticky side up on a seat in Wellington airport the benefit of the doubt and say that maybe she was unwell, or even the first unwitting victim of this pad being stuck on pants.

The point is, we were in the airport for a long, long time after we sat on those seats.

Good friend that I was, when I realised this, I laughed until I cried.

 

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