Archive for Embarrasing moments

Why You Should Always check the Number First

This evening as we were shifting kids around from practice to practice, etc.  I ended up at my MIL’s house to get a child.  While there, she got a call from Tigerfan saying he was on his way over to get Papaw to take the stitches out of his backside because his squeamish wife refuses to do it.  I heard the conversation take place and Nana hung up.

Almost immediately, my phone rang.  I picked it up and said, “he’s calling me to tell me now.”  I then proceeded to answer the phone in the following manner:  “let me guess, you are going to your mom’s so your dad can take the stitches out of your booty.”

“What?” came the reply.  So I repeated myself.  Then the voice of one of my good friends began asking what in the world I was talking about.

The moral of this story: always check to see who is calling before opening your big mouth.  The upside is, at least it wasn’t a student, or my preacher, or a total stranger who just happened to call the wrong number!

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Its Really Not Funny

I mentioned yesterday our experiences at the dermatologist.  But, oh, I only skimmed the surface.  Since baby is sleeping and the other children are occupied, I thought I would sit a moment and give you a little something, something to ponder over the weekend.

Our dermatological visits began about three years ago.  Tigerfan had some moles he was concerned about and our general practitioner recommended he have them checked out.  He had an appointment scheduled but realized at the last minute that it was scheduled for the same time we were to be out of town for children’s camp.  He called the office to explain the situation and they told him they could work him in that afternoon.

Now, I may have mentioned Tigerfan’s OCD tendencies once or twice and he does not fail here.  Because, he had a scheduled day he wore each pair of underwear so that they were on a rotation basis and got equal wear (I am not kidding!).  Anywhoo, as would happen, on this day, which happened to be a Monday, the scheduled pair had gotten too worn and he had not yet purchased a replacement, so he decided to live life on the edge and go “free willy” so to speak.  He thought nothing of it and that afternoon, he went to his doctor’s appointment.  The nurse greeted him in a friendly manner and then asked him to undress down to his underwear.

Now he was in a pickle, because of course, HE WASN’T WEARING ANY!  He decided just to “fess up” and said, “what if I am not wearing any?”  The nurse, with superhuman composure, if you ask me, replied that he could just leave his pants on!  /to this day he swears he heard the whole office begin to giggle as soon as she walked out!

Well, as you can imagine, we have gotten A LOT of mileage out of that little story!  I even have family members who regularly send him boxers so he always has a back up pair.

But, my friends, the story does not end there, oh, no it doesn’t.  Because, you see, yesterday he went back for his yearly exam (with underwear on, I would like to add).  She asked if he had any moles he was concerned about and he mentioned one on his arm.  She agreed that it should be removed.  She then began the “full body check” and found only one more suspicious looking friend.  It just happened to be about 1 1/2 inches northeast of…well, how do I say this delicately, his crack.  She said she was sorry, but it would have to be cut off as well, and got busy.  They didn’t even shave him, people. 

Now, Tigerfan is very hair challenged on top of his head, BUT he can grow it in abundance EVERYWHERE else, yes, even back there.  So, he finally emerged from the office climbed into his truck and winced just a bit, not from the wound but from the hair that was being ripped off under the bandage.

Last night, it was time to clean and dress the wounds.  I tried to get him to make me mad so I would enjoy it a bit more, but he would not cooperate.  We started with his arm and all went smoothly.  It was then time to move to “where the sun doesn’t shine,” literally.  I really did feel bad.  I asked him if he wanted me to just jerk or go slowly..he opted for speed.  So we both gritted our teeth and I jerked.  So did he..and he screamed…and the bandage, it didn’t come off.  A lot of hair, apparently did.  We began again.  Jerk.  Scream.  A few more centimeters of loose bandage.  Again.  Finally, he said to just go for it.  I did.  I think he may have had tears in his eyes.  And people.  There was another bandage underneath.  Oh, yes there was!  And, yes, I had to do it again!  And while I do feel sorry for him..it really was quite hysterical!  His hiney is feeling better today and we are using some much friendlier medical tape now…but something tells me that this story may well take its place in infamy.  Right next to going the doctor commando style!

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Halloween Fashion Faux Pax OR Pizza de Resistance

I have been reading several blogs lately with people discussing Halloween.  Whether they celebrate, party ideas, costumes, etc.  We have never been huge Halloween people.  We usually attend our church’s Fall Fun Fest and the most exciting part, for me is all the bags of chocolate that go on sale for about $1.88 a bag OR if you hit the stores the day after, for next to nothing.  It really doesn’t matter that the children have enough candy to feed a small country.  A bargain on chocolate is not to be taken lightly!

Anyway, my thoughts have gone back to Football boy’s first Halloween.  It is probably the first time Tigerfan and I even thought much about the day because when we first married we lived in an apartment complex with few children, I taught in a Christian School that did not acknowledge the day and really the day just passed by.  By the time Football boy was born, we had moved to Louisiana and I was teaching at a Catholic school.  One of their biggest fund-raisers was the annual Halloween Carnival and it was a BIG DEAL!  One of the events was a costume contest that the teachers were required to participate in.  I had not dressed up since probably Junior High School and was quite intimidated at the thought of having to find a costume and then be judged in it.  My sister in law, however, came to the rescue.  It seemed a girl she worked with had a big party every year and had tons of costumes.  She said I could borrow one and sent a list of possibilities home with my SIL one day.  I do not even remember the other choices but for some reason I chose to go as a piece of pizza.  It seemed like such a creative, unusual costume at the time.  In hindsight, I can now see the foolishness of choosing such a costume sight unseen, but at the time it seemed like a fun idea.

Carnival day rolled around and my SIL brought home the costume and suddenly a thousand “should haves” entered into my mind.  How do you picture a piece of pizza costume?  I do not know what exactly I expected, but this was not it!  I really do not know what I wore on bottom, probably some “tan” leggings representing crust.  The rest of the costume consisted of an off-white turtleneck with a red sweatshirt over it.  On front of the sweatshirt was a giant piece of pizza.  Think back to the style of cutting out fabric, glueing it onto a shirt and then outlining in glitterpaint.  That, my friends, is what I was wearing.  To top it off, it was accesorized by a lovely necklace strung with little plastic peppers, onions, and right in the center like a pendant was a full size pizza cutter.  I know, you think it couldn’t get worse BUT on my head, I actually wore a real Papa John’s Pizza box with a hole cut out of the bottom so it would sit on my head and an elastic band under my chin so I wouldn’t lose the “crowning” piece!  I knew as soon as I saw this ensemble that it was not the winning costume, but what choice did I have.  I was required to participate and I had no other options.  So I donned the outfit and made my way to my humiliation.  That night, I was met with a lot of strange looks.  I never heard, “Wow, what a great costume!” or, “I never thought to dress like a piece of pizza!”  No, what I heard the most was, “Are you a pizza delivery man?”  Strangely, I was beat out of first, second, or third place.  I think the winning costume was a catwoman costume that was surely rented from the local costume shop.  I still think it is wrong–surely I should have at least received the “willing to completely humiliate herself in front of a large crowd vote”.  Well, my days of dressing up ended with that job.  The following years I think I went as a jeannie (yes, I actually showed my midriff!  Yet another moment I am incredibly proud of!), a doctor, and maybe a baseball player.  As you can see, the appeal of dressing yourself from your available wardrobe finally began to sink in towards the end.  I know longer have the need or the desire to dress up for Halloween.  Truly, I am a little of a humbug about it.  I keep trying to convince my boys that dressing up is way overrated (translated: expensive) and you get just as much candy either way.  I can’t take away their fun, though, so I guess with baby #4 coming we will be adorning ourselves for many more years to come.

We will, however, probably stay away from food related themes.

What about you?  Any costume disasters you would like to share?

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Making a Joyful Noise

Well, I went for the gusto and provided my own blog fodder today.

I had a doctor’s appointment this morning so we had to get our “Morning Musts” done and get ready so I could get the kids to Nana’s.  The children were being very cooperative and were dressed, etc and were eating breakfast as I read to them from our current novel, when the phone rang.  It was the nurse who gives me my weekly 17P injection asking if she could come this morning in about 30 minutes.  I told her that would be fine and then rushed through the chapter and got the kids moving along on chores.  They quickly made their beds, brushed teeth, sorted laundry, etc. and were ready to feed the dogs.  Each Mon., Wed., and Fri. while they feed the dogs I do a quick bathroom cleaning: scrub the toilets, wipe them down (we have three boys in the house, this is necessary), windex the mirrors and wipe down counters.  It is a really quick process and usually I can finish about the same time as the boys finish with the dogs and we can begin school.  So…I began cleaning and to pass the time I began singing me some Praise and Worship.  Loudly.  I mean, what is the point of praise and worship while you scrub toilets if you are not going to just belt it out.  I finished the two upstairs bathrooms and moved downstairs…the last toilet!  As I scrubbed and wiped I just sang my little heart out when suddenly I hear….”knock, knock, can I come in?”  It was the sweet nurse.  The boys had seen her drive up and told her not to go to the front and knock.  Just go on in through the garage and go in the house.  Where I was working on my recording contract.  I would also like to add that in order for her to get in the garage entrance, she had to step over the three piles of laundry sorted in the middle of the floor AND the huge pile of shoes I have sitting by the door to take to Goodwill because I finally cleaned out my closet.

I was mortified.  Of course, I didn’t want to admit it so I made some witty comment like, “hey, come on in, I am just scrubbing toilets!”  Quite profound really when what I wanted to say was, “please tell me you did not just injure yourself walking into my chaotic house and that by some miralcle I had taken a breather in my little concert and all you heard was the sound of the toilet brush cleansing the porcelain throne!”

 She was sooo sweet!  She never even commented on my concert and even went so far as to tell me how organized I was to already have laundry going and be scrubbing the toilets!  And frankly, I admire the insincerity of all those pleasantries.  However, when I walked her out I noticed that her mother was waiting out in the car.  They were getting ready to run errands together.  I am not sure, but I think I heard uncontrollable laughter wafting from that car on the way down the driveway.  Perhaps, though, I misunderstood.  Maybe they were striking up a nice chorus of  “How Great is Our God”.  Hey, a girl can dream!

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