I've been pondering if I should share with my dear readers one of my most embarrassing memories. I like being honest on my blog because I like reading other honest blogs. Only, I'm not sure what can be achieved by sharing this particular memory. It's cringeworthy, but not all that funny. I think. Of course, I'm still embarrassed, so I'm not sure if I'm the best judge. The benefit of a warts-and-all blog is of course that we can all see that behind closed doors most people are just as clueless as us. (You are, right? Tell me you are.) They make mistakes and relay them so that we can relax about ours. That thought is not helping me so much just now.
Now I'm talking embarrassing. The kind where it's now eleven years later and I still blush when I think about it in the privacy of my own car (that happened today). I'm not talking worth-a-giggle like the time I was waiting to sing mass with my college choir, went up to a priest and asked him if it was a special day because he was wearing purple, and he said "No, I'm the Archbishop of York." That was only mildly embarrassing. And I'm not talking funny-in-restrospect like the time I had explosive diarrhea in the echoing downstairs bathroom the first time I met my in-laws. I'm talking, well, see for yourself...
I was twenty-one. I was studying philosophy at a certain Scottish University (I would say which, but I don't want to embarrass the other party as well). I'd been there a few months, but I was having trouble settling in, and I was very keen to make a good impression on the other students. We were studying Hegel's Phenomenology in a very small class. I think there were only five other students, so we were all sitting in a very small circle around the lecturer. Before the lecture, he started to tell us a little story. Now anyone who has ever read Hegel will understand that this was a very welcome diversion. The more stories, the better.
So there we were, all listening intently... to the lecturer explaining that later that day he was going in for a vasectomy. Talk about awkward. He elaborated a little - the details have been erased from my memory but it was either about his fears or about the physical process, or both - after which he seemed to expect us to say something to him as well. All I could say (and to this day, I don't know why) was: "My parents know a guy who is a contratenor, and when he meets people, he introduces himself with his very high voice as "[Name], four children"", neatly highlighting his imminent admission to the brotherhood of men of questionable virility. A very long and embarrassed pause followed. Very long. Very very very long. And then we started to read Hegel.
So - would you like a go? I'd like to say it was cathartic, but it's mainly embarrassing all over again.