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When Embarrassment is your Middle Name

When I was younger, it seemed that I had more embarrassing episodes than any other human in history. Now that I’m older, it’s worse. Much worse. It wasn’t until one of my daughters moved back home that I came to understand just how dangerous it could be for me to live in this age of live videos and sharing on social media. My life’s dream has always been to leave a noble legacy, but it’s shaping up to be more like a fart in the wind.

Is there any chance I’m normal?

Many of the things that embarrass me and seem to plague me are actually pretty normal. It’s just difficult for me to imagine that everyone is hiding so much embarrassment. Mine seems to hang out for everyone to see. Maybe in this way I’m a gift to the world! I make everyone else feel better about their comparatively small number of humiliating episodes.

For example, I’ve had the experience of coming out of the bathroom with toilet paper showing—but at least once it wasn’t on my shoe. The toilet paper I had used to cover the seat was once hanging out of my pants at a nice restaurant. I didn’t know about it until I got home four hours later, after we also went to a movie. Everyone seemed to be having a particularly good time of amusement that night. Fool that I am, I thought it was the effects of the wine and cocktails. No, it was the toilet paper dangling from my ass.

The following are among the little things I’ve been caught doing. With my mischievous daughter around, they are the reason I’m so afraid of Facebook Live:

  • After they went to sleep, I took most of the good chocolates out of all of my grandchildren’s Halloween bags. I also ate most of them before the clock struck midnight.
  • When I sleep, it’s with my head tilted back and my mouth open in a most unattractive way. Photos have been taken, and I could easily be blackmailed with them, to prevent their release now or at any time in the future.
  • I have really sensitive skin. Sometimes I run out of the only lotion I’ve ever found that I can wear on my legs without being consumed with itchiness. When that happens, I scratch like a little kid whose legs are covered with itchy mosquito bites. (Just like I did when I was a girl nicknamed Bobo Kid.)

Nose pickers anonymous

Everyone does embarrassing things. I’m still convinced that I do more and I get caught more often. This is really the number one reason that, for me, life is crap.

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