embarrassment

Childhood Dress Mishaps and Playground Tales

When I was a kid, I hated wearing dresses since they interfered with my fun. I got sick of hearing” Keep your dress tail down.” “Girls don’t…..” “Sit with your knees together.” “Fix your clothes. Your dress is over your head!” I should have paid more attention to that last one.

Back in the good old days before anybody cared about safety, our school playground had one of those towering slides that a kid could actually fall off of and kill himself if he weren’t careful. All of us were competitively seeking death, so every one of those twenty-plus steps had a couple of kids jostling for position. I had become socially aware enough to hold my dress down having experienced the boys on the ground sing out that ever popular ditty.

“I see London.
I see France.
I see Linda’s underpants!”

Anyway, when I finally got my turn, knowing dawdling was not tolerated, I quickly tucked my skirt tail safely under me as the kid behind me gave me a shove. I felt a tug at my waist and heard that deadly ripping sound that signaled that, once again, I had destroyed yet another item of clothing, big trouble at home.

“Money doesn’t grow on trees!”

Before I’d processed all that, I heard ecstatic laughter of thrilled kids. I flew off the bottom of the slide, shocked to find myself standing in only my slip and the tattered remains of my dress bodice. The joyous boys were sing songing and pointing out the remains of my skirt fluttering from the top of the slide.

Fully expecting the teacher would contrive some method of dispatching me homeward, I was devastated when the pragmatic old lady wrapped my skirt around me, bath-towel style and pinned it to my slip with gigantic safety pins, instructing me, “Put your sweater on. This will do till you get home.” That was the first time I ever wished for another dress.

By the close of of school, my dilemma no longer interested my class, but the bus ride home afforded the raucous riders plenty to hoot about. I burst in the door at home, seeking solace. Before I could even launch into my suffering, Mother beat me too it. “Oh no! You’ve torn up another dress! That’s the first time you wore it! Money doesn’t grow on trees!”

I don’t know why she didn’t just send me to school wearing a barrel.

Uh oh! (I hope it’s ok to post this riotous post I read on Quora.)

I was at the grocery store. Maybe it was a case of being at the right place at the right time, but still….

So what happened? Well, the stuff that the woman wanted was on the very top of the shelf, she tried to “whack it down” with her cane. Instead, they went back behind, way out of reach. Well, this guy asked her “Ma’am? Which one did you want?” She pointed it with her cane.

This guy (taller than both of us but still short), climbed up and grabbed (she wanted 2) and using one hand to try to bend over to give her two cans, lost his balance, and he grabbed the first thing he could, I was wearing a tank top, so he grabbed my tank top and my bra, ripping it as he lost his balance (but I broke his fall by “catching him”).

By this time the Store Meat Manager (he saw what happened), rushed over. The guy was fine, but the first thing he said was

“OOPSIE MA’AM, I DIDN’T MEAN TO POP YOUR BOOBY!”

I had to pull my tank top up (he broke my bra and the upper right side “strap” of the tank top), using my arm to hold “what’s left of it” to cover my boob!

Meat Manager, he was red-faced and pulled me over behind the display rack (canned goods) and ordered an employee to grab something. It was a spare t-shirt, size XXXL, with the store and the slogan saying ‘I’VE GOT THE BIG MEATS’

REALLY? I am sorry but customers and a couple of other employees who saw this guy almost crashing to the floor… were cracking up!

That same guy, he wasn’t hurt, but he was still embarrassed, pulled out his wallet and a bill folded up into my hand and he left the store (leaving his few items behind). I thought maybe it was $5 or $10 to replace the bra and tank top. I really didn’t need it, so I just put it in my shorts pocket and totally forgotten about it.

FAST FORWARD: I didn’t put those shorts on for a long time, I wore them for about 2 hours, and just folded them up and put them in the drawer. Once winter was over, we were all going to go fishing, I pulled those shorts out and there was the bill, still in my pocket, and I laughed – couldn’t believe I had forgotten it, but when I opened it up, it was a $100.00 bill!

Embarrassment

Do you mind if I sit beside you?” The girl replied with a loud voice, “NO, I DON ‘T WANT TO SPEND THE NIGHT WITH YOU!” All the students in the library started staring at the guy; he was truly embarrassed.

After a couple of minutes, the girl walked quietly to the guy ‘s table and said, “I study psychology, and I know what a man is thinking. I guess you felt embarrassed, right?”

The guy then responded with a loud voice, “$500 FOR ONE NIGHT? THAT ‘S WAY TOO MUCH!”

All the people in the library looked at the girl in shock.

The guy stood and whispered in her ear, “I study law, and I know how to screw people.”

More Travels with Mother

hotmama.https://nutsrok.wordpress.com/2016/01/05/the-low-down-on-lunch-with-mother/
Travels With Mother (Part 2)

The Most Fun You’ll Never Have, Kathleen’s Amazing Bathroom Tour!

It’s Not What You Tank!

 

God was with us.  We got to our destination, Hot Springs, Arkansas without a lot more drama.  We checked into our room, a nice suite with two king-sized beds and an extra bed for the fifth in our party.  For some reason, though it was 104 degrees, we freshened up a bit before going out to see the town, allowing us to start out with a less vintage sweat.  Within minutes, we were rank.  Not to be deterred by a little thing like heat exhaustion, we explored every shop on Main Street, till Mother found a little shop selling belly-dancing costumes. She wouldn’t be budged.  Now, as I’ve said before, Mother is tight.  She had no intention of making such a frivolous purchase, but had to admire herself in one. Every inch of the stifling shop was crammed with exotic outfits with no space devoted to dressing rooms. The proprietor obviously didn’t expect belly-dancers to be overly modest. Not to be denied, Mother just slipped her favorite on over her clothes, despite the heavy customer traffic. She is a little old church lady, after all.  I would never have expected so much business in a store selling belly-dancing costumes. 

Mother had us hold her things while she tottered and struggled into her racy choice, bumping customers at every turn.  They had to have thought her mind was gone and we should have looked out for her better, or that we were in geriatric sex-trade, pimping her out to some perverted creature with a fetish for demented, antique belly-dancers.  Neither choice made us look good.  Eventually, she pranced a bit and had us take a picture or two for her Sunday School Class, before being convinced to leave.  The store clerk was not amused by any of this, but I figured if she thought she was big enough to straighten Mother out, she could go for it.  I know when I am whipped. 

Bigsmilemotorcyclemama

An amused motorcycle guy and his girlfriend were taking all this in and invited Mother to meet their friends waiting on their bikes just outside. I think the burly guys exact words were, “She reminds me so much of my mama!” With him as Mother’s escort, we escaped the wrath of the store owner who was obviously thought it was past time we left.

Mother charmed his friends.  Her new friend invited her for a ride, which she refused, but she did climb behind him on his bike to get her picture made.  Regretfully, he helped her off, after telling her, “Ma’am, you don’t have to go home with these girls if you don’t want to.  We coaxed her away after she exchanged phone numbers and addresses with them, insisting they all come visit.  
Later that evening, we made it back to our hotel, only to find the air-conditioning and bathroom both out of order in our room.  Mother took charge, went to see the manager, and got us transferred to the only room they had left, the Presidential Suite, complete with a hot-spring bath.  I suspect the manager thought, “She reminds me of my mama.”  For once, a bathroom drama with Mother worked in our favor.

We enjoyed the rest of our visit.  On the way home, my sister Connie hung her purse strap on a toilet handle and broke the toilet in a station.  She takes after Mother.

 

Lessons from a Large Family Gathering

We grew up in a huge extended family. My grandmother had more than forty grandchildren and many great-grandchildren. It was common for many of them to gather on holidays. When my brother was about four, one cousin in particular, Gary, was bad about hitting. Bill was not an aggressive kid and came crying to mother.
Before the next visit, in an effort to teach him to stick up for himself, Mother told Bill to hit Gary back. Bashful, Billy didn’t want to. Knowing he had to learn, Mother told Billy if he didn’t she’d spank him. He definitely didn’t want that.

The next day when the families got together, Billy chased Gary around in view of all the parents, calling out to Mother over his shoulder.. “Do you want me to hit him now, Mama? Can I hit him now?”

Fire!

I was not envious of Bud when I was a kid. He lived directly across from the Baptist church. He’d never have been able to come up with an excuse to skip church if his feet worked.

As was usual in that day, the parsonage was alongside the church. Also, as usual, the preacher’s kid was a rotter. Although there were no kids his age at the Bethea household, they’d made the mistake of tolerating him, so he haunted Bud’s poor sisters. He never bothered to knock, just made himself welcome.

One day, he showed up just as they were taking brownies out of the oven. The brownies were intended for an upcoming social event. Nonetheless , without waiting for an invitation, he helped himself. Finding them to his satisfaction, he remarked, “That was good. I’ll have another.”

On another occasion, he let himself in the front door without invitation, as usual, announcing he had a box of matches. Cognizant it was the fall of the year with tempting piles of dry leaves lying about the yard, one of the girls reminded him to keep those matches in his pocket. Her direction went in one ear and out the other. Within five minutes, he was tearing through the house shouting, “Fire! And I don’t know how it got started!”

Don’t Worry, Grandma

My sister and her four-year-old daughter were visiting her mother-in- law when Grandma realized she was telling a story she didn’t want repeated.

“Now, Hayley. Sometimes people talk about things they don’t want repeated. You don’t need to tell anyone what Mommy and I are talking about.”

“I know, Grandma. Mommy talks about you and I never tell you.”

“Spontaneous Combustion” or “Because I Love You”

Pop..pop..pop..pop..pop..pop..pop…the percussion of Daddy’s belt flying out of his belt loops would have brought me out of a coma. Of his various approaches to discipline, “Spontaneous Combustion” was my specialty and the one I experienced most, being both clumsy and a smart mouth.

Things could be rocking along just fine till someone – usually me – broke a dish, made a smart remark, or embarrassed Daddy.   Though I never set out to be “smart-alecky”, I could always count on my big mouth.  What I thought was funny, didn’t always amuse him. I carefully memorized jokes, even if they were way over my head, to tell at just the right moment. My judgment of the right moment was poor, such as when we had the preacher’s family over to Sunday dinner and I told loudly a joke I’d overheard on the school bus.

I hadn’t understood it, but from the reaction of the kids on the bus, it was clearly hilarious. “What day is Queersday?” A word of explanation here. We were strict Southern Baptists. I was nine years old with absolutely no understanding of sex , heterosexual, homosexual, or otherwise.  I had never heard the word “queer” used except in the context of “unusual.” I was surprised the kids found the joke so funny, but made a point to remember it, nonetheless. There was no question of political correctness on my part. I was totally ignorant.

Patiently, the preacher asked, “I don’t know, Honey?  What is Queersday?”

I spouted back.“Only queers ask that!” and collapsed into laughter, noticing only too late, I was the only one laughing. Daddy took me by the arm, escorted me to the back yard and Pop..pop…well, you can guess the rest.

A major argument for “Spontaneous Combustion” was that even though it was swift and terrible, it didn’t involve a wait and didn’t include a lecture, both of which Daddy used to great advantage.

Misbehavior committed during regular times called for different discipline. A lecture preceded the “whipping.” I only wish that I had grown up in more enlightened times when “whipping” was abuse, but unfortunately in the fifties, it was common. The lecture started out with a full explanation of what a horrible thing I had just done, showing where I was pointed in the future should I not be whipped that day. He droned on forever, mentioning at some point that rich people didn’t take time to correct their kids, just bought them lots of stuff ,that sounded good to me, and concluding with, “I’m giving you this whipping because I love you.” I often wanted to voice, it was okay if he loved me a little less, but never did, considering he was holding a big belt the whole time.” Eventually the lecture was over and the main event began.

“Spontaneous combustion” was not Daddy’s exclusive domain. Mother could be prompted into action, but it took a little doing. She was a diminutive little woman with a high, squeaky voice but when she did cut loose, I felt ridiculous getting swatted by Minnie Mouse. One day the Standard Coffee Man came to call. In the fifties, the Standard Coffee Man made regular rounds calling on housewives. Mother routinely bought three pounds of medium roast delivered fresh in its round, white canister with gold stars. I always coveted those canisters, but she selfishly kept them for herself, storing other goods like flour, sugar, meal, and beans in them. Since we were a one-car family, and Mother rarely kept the car, any variation in the daily routine was a welcome event. While Mother went to fetch her purse and pay the coffee-man, I perched my smarty little self on the couch right next to our guest. Always friendly and chatty, I confided that Tommy Lindsey had told me a joke, and yes, Mr. Coffee Man did want to hear it.

“How did the little moron die?”  The coffee-man had no idea. “He was smoking on the roof and threw the wrong butt off!” It was the funniest thing I’d ever heard, and the Coffee-Man laughed, too. He was still laughing when Mother walked back in with his money. Mother snatched me off the couch, spatted my bottom, and sent me to my room. I never even got to say, “Goodbye” to my new best friend. The spat didn’t hurt, but I was embarrassed to have gotten a swat in front of company.

You don’t hit out of love. You hit because you can!

Family’s Obsession with Medicine: A Humorous Anecdote

Daddy’s family was a fan of doctors and medicines. When they’d get together, the topic was sure to turn to their latest symptoms, doctor’s visit or medication. Diet pills and nerve pills were favorites with the women. If Aunt Jewel was prescribed a medication and didn’t complete the course, Uncle Albert polished it off. “I ain’t throwin’out somethin’ that costs that much.”

One day, Daddy heard of a fine new doctor. Soon, he was experiencing difficulties and had mother set him up an appointment. They got there on the dot and he was called straight back. As Mother waited, she noticed there were only women in the waiting room. In minutes, Daddy was back, looking sheepish.
The obstetrician/gynecologist wouldn’t see him.