When I decided I was going to host my very first linky I knew immediately what the topic would be: Your Most Embarrassing Moment. Funny thing is, I had no idea what I would write about. Since I announced my linky, several people have said to me that they don't embarrass easily, and I consider myself to be in the same boat.
I mean seriously, I pissed my pants in front of my entire senior class and wasn't embarrassed. Mortified? Yes. But embarrassed? No. That's probably because no one even knew I had done it, even though they were all standing at the base of the snowy mountain which I had just slid down, pissing the entire way.
I thought about writing about the time I crapped my pants on my honeymoon. But again, that wasn't embarrassing because no one knew it had happened. Not even the husband. Surprise husband! I took a dump in my pants four days after you said I do. Listen, you made a promise to love, honor and cherish me for as long as you live, and while the pastor didn't say it, he implied that that promise included any and all pant shitting.
As I summarily rejected this incident as my most embarrassing moment, another incident from our honeymoon sprung to mind. An incident that had me so embarrassed I was ready to risk being locked away in a Jamaican prison and labeled a terrorist, in order to avoid it.
The night before my wedding to the husband, I was laying in bed and going through a mental checklist of all the very important things that would take place the next day leading up to the big I Do. Suddenly, I bolted up in bed, grabbed my phone and called my one of my bridesmaids J, and asked if she and the other bridesmaids would get something for me that I had forgotten about. Something Very Important.
Did it have to do with the flowers?
The dress? Surely something that would make me bolt out of bed and call J in the middle of the night, must have to do with the absolute most important component of the entire marital day. The Dress.
Me: Can you pick up condoms for me?
J: Sure! No. Problem.
This J is the same J I went shopping for vibrating cock rings with for my friend C's recent bachelorette party, so I knew she had this "in the bag."
Now you may be saying, condoms? But you're getting married?
And to that I say, wow, you really catch on quick don't ya? I wonder what gave away the fact I was getting married. That tomorrow was my wedding day? That I mentioned flowers, a photographer and The Dress? Those were all really tough clues. I could have been talking about anything. I bet you graduated top of your class didn't you? Well, good for you!
Seriously. Good. For. You.
Okay, seriously for serious this time. The condoms were a back up plan. A-just-in-case-all-other-forms-of-birth-control-fail plan. You see, I'm not on the pill. Never have been, probably never will be. Me and pills? We don't get along. Also? I have serious issues that prevent me from taking the pill. Namely? Extreme amounts of paranoia.
I was prescribed the pill, cuz as any good gyno would do, mine didn't discuss any of my options, any other forms of birth control and reached into a closet, shoved a box of pills at me and wrote me a prescription for more.
Now allow me to say, I was very excited to have these BIRTH CONTROL PILLS, because for some reason, I was under the impression they would make my boobs bigger. Like way bigger. I'm talking several cup sizes bigger. I was literally counting down the days until I was to take my first pill and let the magic happen.
Don't get me wrong. I have great boobs. I love my boobs. I love them so much that some days I sit in front of the mirror naked and just stare at them. But you know how sometimes you're eating chocolate and you're like, "Wow, this chocolate is really good. I wish I had more chocolate." That's kinda how I view my boobs. More is better.
This should be the most embarrassing part of the story, because you guys, I was twenty-two when I thought this. TWENTY. TWO. And I thought I could take a pill and I would magically have giant boobs. How embarrassing. No, really. HOW. EMBARRASSING.
But the story does not end there.
The night I was supposed to take the pill, I pulled out the pamphlet and read about all the potential side effects of taking The Birth Control pill, because I am nothing if not
I read about.
For those of you who don't know, Melasma is a tan or dark discoloration on your face.
HOLD THE PHONE.
You want me to take a pill that could cause dark splotches on my face? Are you out of your effing mind? Anything that messes with my looks, I don't do. Why? Because I'm so vain, I do think this song is about me.
After calling my friend A in a total panic, who, though valiantly she tried, could not convince me that this was a minimal risk, I went back to my doctor and demanded another form of birth control. I won't get into what that form was (because I'm saving it for another post), but I was very happy with my choice.
The husband and I? Don't want kids. Probably never ever, but maybe one day we'll change our minds. But a honeymoon baby? Was definitely not in our plans. So not only did we decide to use the birth control method prescribed by my gyno, we decided to combine it with like, fourteen other methods (none of which involved hormones, btw), hence the midnight call to my friend, J.
Now in order to understand the embarrassing moment in which I am about to describe you must understand something about me. I have never bought condoms. I will never buy condoms. Why? Because buying condoms is the most embarrassing thing in the world to me.
I can buy spermicide. I can buy vibrating cock rings. I can buy lingerie. And every sex toy ever created. But condoms? I'd rather die.
I can't explain this. It's just a fact. Let's accept this and move on, shall we?
Not only is my friend J one of the greatest friends on the freaking planet, she is also an overachiever. As our all of my other friends. So when J went to buy condoms, she took two of my other bridesmaids with her and they didn't buy one box of condoms. They didn't buy two boxes of condoms. They bought...
ALL THE CONDOMS EVER!
Pink condoms. Purple condoms. Glow in the dark condoms. Condoms with flashing lights. Condoms with reindeer antlers and jingle bells, like those tacky headbands at Christmas. Condoms with pre-recorded messages. Condoms with record-your-own-love-making-message message. Condoms that sang. Condoms that changed colors. Condoms shaped like bunny rabbits.
Seriously, you guys. I had to sit on my suitcase in order to close it cuz of all the damn condoms.
I don't care how much you love sex, one couple could not use this many condoms if they were married 427 years. But the husband and I? Are never ones to back down from a challenge.
As soon as we got to our resort in Jamaica we broke those puppies out. Now, I don't think we ever actually used one for doin the dirty-dirty - they were just a back up plan remember? - but we were determined to get some use of out them. So...
We made balloon animals.
We blew them up, hit them up in the air and played the don't-let-the-balloon-hit-the-ground game.
We filled them with water, stood on our balcony and threw them at passerbys.
We used them as flotation devices in the pool.
We tied them together, went to the roof of our hotel and used them to scale down the side of the building.
We devoted two hours of every day of our honeymoon to condom creativity time, but at the end of the week? We still had a shitload of condoms.
The night before we left to travel back home to the real world, I carelessly threw all my crap in my suitcase. The last thing I threw in and scattered all across the top, like wildflowers in a field, were the condoms.
For those of you who haven't been to Jamaica, they take security very seriously there. Those x-ray machines we have in the states? Psht. For amateurs. In Jamaica they employ the dirty-perv-open-your-luggage-and-rifle-through-your-stuff-while-everyone-in-the-airport-watches method.
I waited in line and watched with growing dread as person after person had their suitcase thrown on a folding table, opened, and the contents tossed about in full view of everyone. I looked around nervously for somewhere to run, somewhere to hide. I seriously considered taking my suitcase and running like a crazy person through the line, where I probably would have been tackled and thrown in jail, but who cares? My suitcase, exploding with condoms, was about to be opened for the entire airport to see.
I began to sweat. I began to mutter to myself. I nudged the husband, but he, of course, had no clue what I was trying to communicate. And even if he did, it wouldn't change anything. Even if the condoms weren't proudly sitting on top of all my clothes, my lingerie, the pervy mcperve guy up ahead was rifling through everything in the suitcases, tossing the contents about like a juggler making sure everyone had a spectacular view of tennis shoes, t-shirts and condoms Oh My!
Finally, it was our turn. My suitcase was tossed onto the table. I tried to look away. Tried to pretend I didn't notice what the airport was about to see. Tried to pretend I didn't give a shit. But then the suitcase was opened, and the condoms came spilling out, like a Mt. Vesuvius eruption of rubber, bright colors and sex, and Pervy McPerverson continued digging through the condoms and the lingerie and gave the husband this look like the two of them shared this dirty secret while everyone else in the entire airport looked on with horror. Mothers covered their children's eyes. Old ladies pulled out their glasses for a better look. Husbands started dry-humping their wives.
As for me?
I fell through the floor and died.
So there you have it! My most embarrassing moment. That wasn't too bad, was it? What is your most embarrassing moment? Tell us. Don't be shy. Did you pee your pants in public? Poop your pants at your high school graduation? Did your grandmother catch you doing the dirty-dirty with your man? With yourself? Or was it some other horrifically awesome moment I can't even fathom?
Link up and tell all! Inquiring minds want to know. And don't forget to grab the damn button. It took more effort and people and planning to create that thing than it did rescuing those 33 Chilean men trapped in that mine.