Tag Archives: embarrassment


I didn’t talk much about Pensacola, other than to say I had fun. I had to rest from the trip and then I had work to do for my upcoming books. It’s only now, when things have calmed a bit that I can relate something that made me crack up.

My mom came with me for this trip. She’d never been to Florida before (which is kind of astounding since she’s been pretty much everywhere else) and when she found out I was going to Pensacola, she was so there. She was packed two days before we left, had bought snacks and drinks for herself, a bathing suit, and a huge book. She also had this insane plan to sneak over to the hotel next door to use their hot tub. Luckily she didn’t. I really don’t know what I would’ve done if she’d been arrested. Maybe leave her there for a little while to ponder her criminal activities.

The entire drive over, she kept urging me to drive faster. “Faster! I want to get there now! I’m your mother and I’m telling you it’s okay to speed.” Yeah, I chuckled over that. But it was Saturday that made me crack up.

Before I get to that though, I have to explain something about my family. We’re the most ungraceful people you’ll ever meet. My mom has fallen down our stairs more times than I can count. She hasn’t hurt herself too much and she always laughs hysterically at herself, but yeah, she and stairs do not mix well. Then there’s my uncle who has the unfortunate habit of falling off of anything he’s standing on. Three story scaffolding to work on his house? Yeah, he knocked out the wrong support and fell. And that’s only a mild taste of our lack of grace.

So it should come as no surprise when on Saturday morning Mom told me she was going to walk on the beach, I had a moment of panic. I warned her, “Be careful. Don’t fall or hurt yourself in any way, okay?” Of course she gave me a look I’m sure I’ve given her several times in the last thirty some odd years and promised to be careful. She went off, happy to be seeing blue water and white sand.

Hours later, after workshops and lunch, I went up to the room and that’s when I learned she didn’t follow my directions at all. Well, okay, it wasn’t that bad. It seems she tiptoed her way down to the water to put her feet in. A wave met her advance and almost knocked her off her feet. She swears one leg went one way and the other went another way. She almost fell, but managed to catch herself. And naturally, a man passing by saw it happen and laughed hysterically.

She didn’t end up in the water, but my writer’s mind keeps thinking how funny it would’ve been. I can picture it in my mind and it makes me laugh. Because when Mom falls, she’s very loud. She lets out this scream that makes you think something horrible has happened, but it’s really her laughing at herself.

Ah well. Mom made it through the rest of the weekend with no further mishaps. I’m sure Pensacola breathed a sigh of relief when we left the city limits, but be forewarned, Florida. We’ll be back.

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The Froggies Are Coming

What a dismal morning! I woke up only to see a dense fog all around. It makes driving so difficult, not to mention the humidity is hell on my hair.

But fog reminds me of my brother when he was young. He used to say the most hysterical things and we never fail to remind him of them. For instance, it wasn’t “fog”. For some reason, instead of saying it was foggy, he’d say “the froggies are coming!” Now, I’m not sure if he thought they were actual frogs, but it used to crack us up.

Of course, kids say the darnedest things. We all have stories about kids saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, or completely misunderstanding some things. It’s natural since they’re learning. If you throw in a slight speech impediment, sometimes the things they say will leave you struggling to hold back your laughter.

For instance, my cousin’s daughter had a problem with her “st” sounds. Now, I know it’s wrong to laugh, but that “st” sound only opened the door to mass hysteria in our family. I have mentioned before how we have no problem laughing at each other, but in this case, our little one struck us all dumb.

Like the day she caught a plastic sword at a Mardi Gras parade. She must’ve been three or four at the time. She brandished her awesome weapon and declared, “I am the king and this is my *ick!” (insert a d in that asterisk and you’ve got exactly what she said). We stared at her in appalled horror for all of three or for seconds before we started choking on our laughter. OMG. Even now, remembering how proud she was of her “stick” To make matters worse, every time she had any object that was…phallic in shape, whether it was a sword, or a rolled up newspaper, it immediately became her “stick”. Hilarity ensued.

Then there was the time her friend came over to play. Our little one’s grandmother had given her this gaudy plastic serving spoon to play with. The friend looked in awe at the blue plastic with silver paint and said, “You must be rich!” Little one shook her head and said very plainly, “No, we’re poor like you.”

Oh man…My stomach hurts from holding back the laughter. Of course there are a ton of stories I could share, but it would take a few blog posts to get them all in. Maybe I should start a “Kids Say the Darnedest Things” thread and see where it goes. It’s funny how a foggy day made me think about this, but there you have it. That’s how my brain works.

So my question to you is, what have your kids, or relatives’ kids said that left you in hysterical horror? You can tell me. I won’t judge!


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Confession Time

As you all know, I adore my dog, Mia. She’s a miniature Schnauzer and my constant companion. If she had things her way I’d stay home all the time and let her sit/sleep in my lap. That’s her idea of heaven. Poor puppy.

I admit I baby her. I can’t help myself. She’s just so cute and needy, I want to protect her from everything. I give her treats, I have her groomed and that’s where the confession comes into play.

She’s a nervous rider. She whines and cries in the car and tries to climb in my lap. The first time I brought her to the groomer, it was her first time away from me ever. I dropped her off and went about my business trying not to think of the horror stories I’ve heard of dog groomers.

That afternoon they called to let me know she was ready. I was filled to bursting with happiness to get my baby girl back again. I raced to the groomer and walked in the door. A mini-Schnauzer was on the counter and the minute I walked in the door, she went berserk with joy. She looked so good! Her fur was trimmed, her beard and mustache looked brighter and she was thrilled to see me. I picked her up and brought her home. She was so well-behaved in the car, so completely happy to be going home and I realized this grooming thing couldn’t be too bad.

But when I got home and she jumped out of the car she took one look at my old cat (whom she’d grown up with) and tore after her like a demon. About that time, my mom came to the door and shouted the words no pet owner wants to hear:

You brought the wrong dog home!

What??? That was impossible! This was my Mia! She’d been so happy to see me she’d almost jumped in my arms, but then I saw the way she and the cat were going at it and realized I had indeed brought the wrong dog home. My cousin, she of the warped sense of humor I’ll tell you about another time, was there and offered to go back to the groomer with me. I was so embarrassed to have brought the wrong dog home, I made my cousin go in with the imposter and bring my Mia out.

To this day, whenever I say how much I love my dog, my family reminds me (and Mia) of how I brought the wrong dog home. I have to soothe my baby girl and tell her it was only an accident. That’s when I give her another treat because I don’t want her feelings hurt.

And of course, every time I pick her up from the groomer I study her carefully. Is her little birthmark on her back? Does she have curved canines? Is she whining and crying in the car? Does she ignore the cat in favor of a treat? If she does all of that, I know it’s my Mia and not another imposter.

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Starbucks Stupid

I hate not knowing how to do something and most of the time, I fake knowing everything really well. Unfortunately, this doesn’t work at Starbucks.

I drink coffee; no more than a cup a day, but sometimes I treat myself. Saturday was one of those days. I was heading out to get my hair done and run errands, one of which took me to Starbucks. My sister and I went to buy a gift card and I figured I’d get a decadent cup of coffee while I was there. I stared at the board not sure what I was going to get. It was warm so I didn’t want anything hot. I kept trying to remember what I drank in NYC since I visited Starbucks more than any other place while I was at the conference.

Then it was my turn. I thought I saw something that looked familiar and placed my order. The server said something I still don’t understand. It sort of came out “blah blah latte blah blah or iced coffee blah blah blah”. I stared at her in surprise. I could see the people in line behind me shifting impatiently. My answer? “The first.” Cause I had no idea what she said. The only thing I did know was the size “venti”.

Phew. It felt like the most monumental decision I’d made since I accepted representation! How difficult is it to order coffee? Should it be that hard? Maybe they didn’t have the same things at this Starbucks as they did at the NYC one because the drink I ended up with sucked. Sorry to die-hard Starbucks drinkers, but it did. I’m sure it was my fault since I was struck stupid while listening to her spout off something that was far too complicated for my just-woke-up brain to handle.

It wasn’t all that bad though. I did drink my…whatever it was, got my hair done, did a little shopping with my sister, and had lunch, but that moment of stupidity hovered over me like a dark cloud. Needless to say when I drank my coffee (regular stuff I made myself, thank you very much) on Sunday morning I breathed a sigh of relief because this I understood.

Do you drink fancy coffee? Or are you like me and you feel like there’s a spotlight on you when you order and if you say something wrong you’ll hear “You are the weakest link. Goodbye.”?


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The Family Suggests

I was sitting around with the majority of my female relatives on Thanksgiving Day afternoon. I don’t know how we got on the subject of things we’ve been witness to, but after a while, everyone started shouting suggestions for blog topics.

The majority wanted me to blog about my aunt and her misunderstanding of a certain phrase. I didn’t find out about this until summer and I was oh so tempted to tell y’all about it, but didn’t think she’d appreciate it. However, her daughters insist I share it with you so sit back and enjoy the story.

My aunt was in the store with her 17-year-old daughter. She saw a lady with a pair of cute thong sandals (you thought I was going to say panties, didn’t you?). She really liked the stranger’s sandals and said, “Nice camel toes!”

You’re dying aren’t you? Yes you are. I was dying. My sister was dying. Everyone was dying except for my mom who didn’t know what it meant either. My cousin (the teenager) said she thought her mother was going to be murdered in front of her. You see, my aunt had heard the phrase and thought it referred to a type of sandal, not…the unfortunate-looking crease a woman gets when wearing tight pants. So, yeah, my aunt complimented/insulted a complete stranger on her camel toe.

No, she isn’t allowed out in public anymore; at least not with her daughter who has told her mother she can’t use slang terms anymore.

It wasn’t until later that night that I had to explain to my mom what it was. She laughed (she isn’t about to be left out!), but had no clue what camel toe was. Poor things.

I swear, with a family like this, I don’t need to make up stories!

Have you ever had to deal with a similar problem with generation gaps?


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Cajun Blue

Today was supposed to be a Cajun French lesson, but I just have to talk about this new show A&E is coming out with called Cajun Blue.

I found out last week that A&E has been filming in my part of the world. They’re shooting a type of reality police show similar to Cops, but instead of following officers around the country, they’re riding with the Terrebonne Parish Sheriff Department. The gentleman who’ll be hosting the show is our current Sheriff who declined running again. He has said Cajun Blue will be like Cops on steroids.

For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you’ll probably remember me trying to decide if I should laugh or hide. That feeling hasn’t dissipated by any means. Don’t get me wrong, I love where I live. I find the people here highly entertaining, but I know not everyone is the same. Unfortunately, I worry this show will cast a dark light on the people here.

You know what I mean. You’ve all seen it. You’re watching the news and the reporter will interview someone who embarrasses anyone who lives in that area. It never fails. The reporter will find someone who fits every regional stereotype who witnessed whatever happened. Add to the fact the camera crew is following police around, you know they’re going to find people who will embarrass the hell out of the rest of the parish. It’s inevitable.

On the other hand, I’m strangely excited because…well, this is my home. I know I’ll crack up laughing at some things and cringe at others. Like if they happen to arrest, or stop someone I know. *wince* I have no doubt if this show takes, it’ll be the talk of the surrounding parishes. Watercooler conversations will probably go something like:

Did you watch Cajun Blue last night? Oh, my god, did you see <insert name>? I thought I was gonna die! He’s my wife’s cousin’s ex-husband and he was acting like a fool!


Cher bon Dieu! Did you see <insert name> on the T.V.? Her poor mama. <crossing themselves> She was always a bad girl. Tsk.

Oh yes, I can almost see it now…


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My Freaky Feet

I know I talked about my sister-in-law and baby Bennett (who’s expected to arrive today or tomorrow) on Monday, but I completely forgot about my experience boot shopping on Saturday!

For the benefit of those who aren’t regular followers, let me just say I’m very tight-fisted when it comes to shopping. Books don’t count. Those aren’t a luxury, they’re a necessary. However, this weekend I found myself at a specialty store to buy steel-toe boots for work.

I’ve decided it was time to invest in a new pair of steel-toes and stop wearing my good sneakers to work. Have any of you ever bought good quality steel-toes before? If not, let me just tell you they’re expensive. As in, I paid more for these boots than I did for the dress I wore in my brother’s wedding last year. Yes. They were twice as expensive as a formal dress. *shudders*

But that isn’t the point of today’s post. Oh no. I had to get fitted for the right boots. The store I went to was small and the sign in the front boasted that the store held over twenty sizes and a range of widths. This was going to be so much fun (insert sarcastic eye roll).

I told the owner what I was looking for. Waterproof steel-toes since most of the time my work takes place in the rain, or after it rains. Before I could even look at the shoes on the shelves, the owner said I needed to be fitted.

I toed off my sneakers and placed my feet in the little metal things that look like torture devices. The man bent over my feet and started taking measurements. He tapped my heels, tapped my toes, tapped the sides of my feet and paused.

Him: This is really strange.
Me: What’s that?
Him: You have perfectly proportioned feet. I’ve never seen that in twenty years.
Me: You mean my feet are perfect? (Go figure it would be my feet.)
Him: Yes. Do you know what this means?
Thinking I’m about to win a prize, or get a huge discount on my boots, I eager say, What does that mean?
Him: It means you’re a freak. No one has perfectly proportioned feet!

I laughed. What else could I do? And it was funny. I suppose my freaky feet broke the ice with this guy, especially since I wasn’t offended and we joked while I walked around in the expensive steel-toes. He explained how shoes should fit and why they should fit that way and told me these boots should correct my knock-knees. I didn’t even know I had knock-knees. *mutters* But I really couldn’t take offense because he made me laugh.

So now you all know I have freaky, perfect feet. Aren’t you jealous?


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