The Embarrassing Question...

11/07/2009

There are a number of questions that sometimes prove to be extremely embarrassing to the person posing them.  I have seen a commercial on TV of a guy and a lady on an elevator where the guy asks her when she is due, and as she replies she is not, you see him as he sinks in a ship called “The Total Embarrassment.” How about the one where the young woman says to a guy, “I think you are the father of one of my children?” He, in turn says, “Cancun? Oh no!” Turns out she is a young nun and his daughter’s teacher.  He let his ego take over as he made a very fast and dumb assumption.  Embarrassing!  Has it ever happened to you?  Today was my turn to be forced into asking a totally embarrassing question.

The Nancy and I are out visiting one of the daughters for the weekend.  We are enjoying being in the house with her and the four almost adorable kids and the cat and the dog and guinea pigs (while they are still alive), a surreal experience.  Actually the goings on in this house fit the mental picture I have of a mental institution and its inmates.

Crazy crap goes on in this house.  The three boys always seem to be in a pile in the middle of the floor wrestling, gouging, scratching and tormenting one another, or are totally immersed in some computer game.  The daughter, the eldest of the four, very rarely appears from her room except to eat or demand a ride to another venue.  Her room always looks as if a bomb went off in it with clothes scattered everywhere, leaving doubt any could possibly be in her closet or her drawers.  Her domain borders on disgusting, and if she weren’t so pretty we would probably sell her.  Actually her room would remind you of a landfill with trash scattered everywhere. 

But still with all the justifying groundwork laid here above to ease my own bruised ego, I am very embarrassed by the question I had to ask.  You see, during my morning meditation (you get the picture?), I managed to create a mechanical failure of the plumbing kind.  The untimely but necessary event forced me to embarrass myself as I had to ask the daughter for a plunger.  It one thing to visit someone’s home, whether relative or friend, it is entirely a horse of a different color to stop up a toliet.  That horse takes on even deeper hues when one has to ask its owner for a plunger.  I managed to heap more crap on (or in) this house, and now, having been forced to ask the embarrassing request for a plunger, I now have lovely crimson glow about me making me A Hell of a Guy of a different color.

And that is all I have to say about that…