Saturday, May 17, 2014

I’ve Recovered from My Embarrassment

Guest post by Bride of the Bloviator

My husband Forrest, a.k.a. The Bashful Bloviator (TBB) has been making fun of me about a recent minor embarrassment.  I’m writing to set the record straight.  While the incident did happen, accounts of its affects on me are greatly exaggerated.

What occurred was this:  A few evenings ago as I pulled into my neighborhood around dusk, I saw TBB standing at the mailboxes.  By getting the mail, obviously TBB had decided to make himself useful at least for the moment, a concept I applaud and by policy try to encourage.  So seeing him performing this minor but important chore put me into a good, even cheerful mood.

Thinking I would surprise him, I gunned the engine, raced the car on over to the mailboxes, and came to a quick halt alongside them.  Rolling down my window, I called out in a somewhat seductive voice, “Well, hey there.  Want a ride?”

TBB looked up.  Now leering at him, I eagerly studied his face to see what kind of reaction I had elicited.  It was then I noticed that the face in question did not belong to TBB.  Oh, the man was wearing the same short-sleeved safari style shirt TBB normally does.  Same hair, or lack thereof.  Same build.  Same general age.  But the face was that of a total stranger, and the expression on it betrayed the reaction of a man beholding a woman who’d totally lost her mind. 

Making quick excuses about mistaken identity and so on, I beat a hasty retreat.  Fortunately, my house is situated only a few dozen yards from the mailboxes.  Within seconds, I had reached the safety of my garage and had rolled down the door behind me—thereby, I thought, sealing myself off from this little oopsie.  Soon I had forgotten all about it.

About fifteen minutes later I was out front watering my plants and talking to them, as I sometimes do to encourage their growth.  (Hey, don’t laugh.  There is science to this.  Studies have proven that plants do better when you coo at them, compliment them on their foliage, stroke them, and in general beam positive thoughts in their direction.  It’s the same general manner I adopt with my cats.)  At this exact moment, I spotted a man walking his dog down the sidewalk right in front of my home, not more than ten feet from where I was standing.  Oh, yeah.  It was the same guy—the one to whom I had nearly, but not quite, said “Hey, sailor.”  When I caught his eye, I was in the midst of an earnest conversation with an ailing lantana.  Never mind the details; suffice it to say in general that I had stated a serious concern about its condition, conveyed my admiration for the plant in personal terms, assured it that it was very special and dear to me, encouraged it to perk up and do better, and expressed my best personal wishes for a long and healthy future.  The dude doubtless had heard every word.

I opened my mouth to say something—and it just kind of hung there.  No words came out.  Fortunately, it turned out that none were necessary.  The man pretended that he had not caught my eye and had not noticed me standing there.  He picked up the pace, not quite dragging his little pooch behind him as he disappeared around the corner.  Poor little thing.  It wasn’t the dog’s fault that its owner, who obviously is a neighbor of mine living close by, had encountered what he clearly considered to be an eccentric woman firmly on the path to bag-ladyhood.

Now, despite what TBB has been suggesting to his friends, this incident has not adversely affected me in any way.  I am not suffering from any form of post-embarrassment syndrome.  There has been no change in my behavior or daily routine.  I never went outdoors much to begin with.  If there is no need to go out, why should I?  There’s no such thing as a good hair day in Tucson.  Why expose myself to the hot, dry, dusty wind any more than I have to?  I can get from the kitchen door to my car and be safely inside before ever having to open the garage door.  There is nothing wrong with that, and I conducted myself essentially the same way even before this incident.  Further, I still do go outside to water my plants.  True, most of them are in the back yard, which has a privacy wall.  But I have not abandoned my lantana friend out front.  It still sees me quite often, with a watering hose in my hand and an encouraging word on my lips.  After dark.  With the porch light off.


You may contact Bride of the Bloviator by writing her at deborahcarr99 at gmail dot com.  Encourage her to write more!  I’m trying to get her to make a regular commitment to this blog.

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©2014 by Forrest and Deborah Carr.  All rights reserved.

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