Butt Talk

Embarrassing moments . . . we all have them, some more than others, and I’m probably top of the hill in that department.

Honestly, embarrassment seems to haunt me at times.

Take my eyesight. It’s not very good, which results in over-enthusiastic waving and screaming at someone who doesn’t have a clue who I am – except, perhaps, a raving lunatic.

It just as easily means passing friends on the street without even a glance.

Oops!

For the same reason, I have found myself wearing two different color shoes when I was a rep . . . one brown, one blue. Of course I did not notice this ‘til I walked into a crowded hotel lobby where 50 anxious tourists wanted to hear what excursions to book.

Shoes were my thing in the past anyway. I got stuck with my stiletto in an escalator, saw my life end before me while my leg was about to be eaten by the ferocious mechanized ‘teeth.”

My shining knight in armor was a 55-year-old smelly, toothless drunk who fondled my ankle a bit too long when assessing the damage.

On another hot date, the heel of my 15-euro ‘Boutique-Market-Biker’ boots broke. As I did not want to end the night, my date broke off the other heel as well. I can tell you, it is a real challenge to be flirtatious and charming without heels.

Don’t think I succeeded cause I can’t recall us ever going out again, but he did return my heels.

I’ve bumped into all-glass walls, got stuck in revolving doors, head butted many a lamppost . . . all with a nice big audience.

I’ve stepped into cars of total strangers instead of our own, and you can imagine the look on the faces of both my partner and my ‘new’ driver.

I even sneezed so loud once, that the sneezing-force caused my forehead to hit a metal pole so hard it made me look like an India-Wannabe for weeks!

But this week I out-did myself. Upon my kids’ request, we went to McDonalds in Iraklion. There were two girls on duty inside, one even more indifferent then the other. Ultimate rudeness seemed to be their goal in life and they were succeeding. My youngest wanted a Happy Meal, but they ran out of toys. She settled for just the contents, burger-fries-coke.  Couldn’t get it though in a normal order, I had to order a Happy Meal for her to get a small coke and small fries. Jeeeeez…..

It took us 15 minutes to place the order . . . and another 20 to get our burgers, with cold fries. If Old Mac would have seen this Big Mac he would have turned in his McGrave.

My bad temper took hold, so I gave these serving slobs a good piece of my mind, finishing with: Well at least you won’t run out of bacon, you can simply slice up your McButt, there’s enough there to feed an army.

With heads held high, my family followed me up the steps. I heard some laughter behind me, but didn’t pay any attention, knowing I really told them off.

As we made our way to a table my daughter screamed, “Oh my God,” then whispered something about big hole . . . pants . . . bare flesh.   

I rushed to the bathroom and checked in the mirror. A hole of about 20 centimeters revealed the better part of my rump . . . two cheeks merrily greeting the world, as they surely did moments before, as I proudly marched away from the counter after telling off the staff. 

Needless to say, we sheepishly left through the back door, like thieves in the night, my face staying lobster-red for the remainder of the day.

Talking about butts . . .