EMBARRASSING MOMENTS

EMBARRASSING MOMENTS
C 2011 JoJo

Embarrassing moments, we’ve all had them at some point and time in our lives. But for some strange reason, I seem to attract them like flies to honey. I can think of several right off the bat.

I once acted in a play called “Charing Cross,” donkey’s years ago! I have a memory of that experience which today is funny, but back then was acutely embarrassing.

Mine was a small part, and I only came on at the end of the play.

Well, one of my fellow actors (a real joker) told me that in Dress Rehearsal, anything goes and one could do with ones role exactly as one wished. I took him at his word (the bastard) and when I came on stage, I acted as if I was four sheets to the wind, and drunk as a skunk. I staggered onto the stage, nearly missed the chair I was to sit on, hiccupped loudly, slurred my words, put both hands on the desk and peered out blearily at the audience – I went the full 9 yards and gave it my very best shot!

There was a small audience there – the director encouraged actors to bring family members in for dress rehearsal, because it enabled him to get a feel for audience reaction. Well needless to say, the reaction to my drunken performance was … stunned and disbelieving! After it was over, the director came and asked me if I was feeling alright, and did I need someone to drive me home? Oh dear, the shame and embarrassment I felt was acute! The actor who’d told me this whopper was laughing his head off so I went over, and gave him a piece of my mind. The madder I got, the more HE laughed – the rat fink!
EVEN
In fact, I can think of another time when I felt more embarrassed. That was the day I was walking to the Cricket Club in Niteroi, and there was a man I knew walking out of there. Just as he came alongside me, the elastic in my knickers (panties) broke, and they fell in a heap at my feet. I waited for him to move on or at least avert his eyes, but oh dear me no, he stared waiting to see what I was going to do. I had no choice – stepped out of my knickers, picked them up and popped them into my handbag, all the while glaring at him. He burst out laughing and said “I’m sorry, Jo, I had to stare because I’ve always wondered what a woman would do if this should happen.”

“Yes, well now you know,” I replied icily and swept ahead, hoping like hell that a capricious wind wouldn’t blow my skirt up!

Then there was the time I was at a big ball in the British Ambassador’s residence in Rio de Janeiro. This big bash was being held in honour of the British naval fleet that were in Rio on a courtesy visit. All the British single girls had been rounded up and invited to this party, to be available as dance partners for Her Majesty’s Naval Officers.

I wore a gentian blue strapless full length evening gown, had my long hair (at the time) done up in an elegant coiffure, and felt like a million bucks.

My allotted Naval Officer was a dashing, handsome First Lieutenant named John W. At some point of the evening, we’d wandered out onto the long veranda that ran along the full length of the Ambassador’s home, overlooking magnificent gardens. There was a full tropical moon – a night made for romance.

I remember that I was drinking a gin and tonic. I was mesmerized by my handsome Lieutenant who was truly DDG (drop dead gorgeous for the uninitiated). I lifted my G&T dreamily to my mouth to take a sip of it … and I missed by mouth, pouring it, complete with ice cubes down my cleavage! I felt the icy cold liquid pour down my front, and pool around my stomach.

But there was a more pressing problem – how in the hell to scoop out the ice cubes without my handsome Lieutenant noticing? I had to distract him somehow.

“Oh look over there at that magnificent Bougainvillea! I cried pointing into the distance. Frankly, I didn’t know what the flower was – it could’ve been a skunk cabbage for all I knew, but it did the trick. He peered into the dark trying to see what flower had impressed me so much, and I was able to surreptitiously scoop out all but one ice cube, which lodged itself under my right breast, jammed inside my bra, and I couldn’t reach it. I had to accept the fact that I was stuck with it and had to wait until it melted of its own accord.

Then horrors!

“Shall we dance?” my handsome companion asked.

OH SH** I thought to myself. I hope he doesn’t hold me closely.

“Love to,” I said with what I am sure was a ghastly grin pasted on my face.

We went into the ballroom to the sound of a lusty samba. Oh dear me, my handsome Lieutenant clasped me tightly to his chest and off we went. Every so often he looked at me with a puzzled expression on his face, and I just hoped he wasn’t thinking I’d peed on myself.

And now we come to the last acutely embarrassing moment that I can recall on the spur of the moment.

I’ve always had a lousy memory for people’s names – faces I remember, names I can’t. I tried to improve my memory by using the association method. Tying the person’s name to an event, or an object – or anything that would trigger a response so I could dredge up from my memory banks, that person’s name when I met them.

I put this system to work when I met a woman who’s name was “Mrs. Pentecost.” Well, I thought to myself, that’s easy enough to remember – Pentecost is a feast of the Church and starts with the letter “P.”

Next time I met this good lady, I rushed up to her and with all the confidence in the world said cheerily, “Well hi there, MRS. PASSOVER!”

Oh that was deeply embarrassing especially as she was NOT AMUSED and thought I was making fun of her name!

Then there was the time I was walking along the Avenida Rio Branco in downtown Rio, when I saw a woman walking towards me that I knew. I knew she was married, had 3 kids, played bridge with Mum frequently, and lived in a fancy house on Gavea Beach. All I didn’t know, WAS HER NAME!

Blast!

I decided to bluff it out.

“Well hi, how are you today?” I cried smiling (I hoped not desperately). “Oh I do love your earrings – they’re gorgeous! Where did you get them?”

So we discussed her earrings (and no, I don’t have the foggiest recollection of what they looked like) and I was just congratulating myself on getting away with this ploy, when along came ANOTHER woman I ALSO KNEW.

I knew she was a single lady who kept a zillion cats, and that she was having a torrid affair with a married man I was acquainted with, who was one of the pillars of British society in Rio. I knew this because HER servant told OUR servant about it who told ME (there was a very efficient domestic servant grapevine hotline and our servant Toninha, kept me informed about all sorts of interesting stuff going on!)

Like I said, I knew everything about this woman – EXCEPTING HER DAMN NAME! You think that’s bad? It got worse! NEITHER OF THESE WOMEN KNEW EACH OTHER.

Having greeted the second woman effusively admiring the lovely dress she had on, both women said “I don’t believe we’ve met?” and both looked to me to carry out the introductions.

I looked at my watch. “OH MY GOODNESS, JUST LOOK AT THE TIME. SORRY I HAVE TO RUSH – LATE FOR AN APPOINTMENT” and I got the hell away from this mess.

I honestly think the “name recollecting synapse” in my brain is missing, and it’s not going to come home to Mama anytime soon.
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Have you noticed folks, that so often when something acutely embarrassing happens, at the time it is a mortifying experience, but later on you remember it and find it hysterically funny?