And then all my clothes fell off! (Most Embarrassing Moments)

Member Name: nikkisly

Product:	Most Embarrassing Moments
Date:	15/06/02 (3822 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Surely I can't be the only one...

Disadvantages: What do you mean, I am the only one?

Why would anyone in their right mind want to reveal their most embarrassing moments on Dooyoo? Can't understand it myself. However, sitting in a pub with a crowd of fellow Dooyoo'ers recently, I was somehow persuaded that the world was more than ready to hear mine. It's taken me a few days because once I started writing I found to my horror that I'd had so many that what I'd actually written was a short novel rather than an opinion.

Picture this. I live in the country, miles from anywhere, with no near neighbours. One day there is an unexpected knock on the door. It's the dreaded 'aerial photographs' man.

"No, thank you" I say, already pushing the door shut and failing to notice the wicked grin on his face.

"Just have a look" he persisted "It's a very clear picture". I looked. It was. A very clear picture of our house and garden taken from the air and perhaps the clearest thing in the picture was me sunbathing in the garden - flat on my back and stark naked!

You see, that sort of thing tends to happen to me. There was the time when I was asked to serve coffee at a board meeting. Balancing a heavy tray of coffee, milk, sugar, cups, saucers and plates of biscuits, I tapped respectfully on the office door and was rewarded with "Come in". I managed somehow to open the door and, seeing as my hands were full, I pushed it closed after myself with my backside, not realising that the tie on my wraparound skirt had caught on the door handle. As the door slowly closed behind me, my skirt fell off, leaving me, tray in hand, facing the directors in my underwear.

Then, in my present job, I went out to visit a farm very early in the morning. Now, on farms, I dress practically - a pair of jogging bottoms that can be thrown into the washing machine on my return. I?d got home from the same farm the previous evening, stripped off my clothes and fallen exhausted into
bed. At 4.00am, I couldn't have been completely awake, since when I arrived on the farm and walked into the milking parlour, the farmer, his son and the herdsman promptly collapsed in fits of laughter. Between guffaws, the farmer pointed helplessly, finally managing to stop laughing long enough to ask me "What have you come as? Superman?"

Uncomprehendingly, I looked down at myself to find that I had inadvertently pulled on my jogging bottoms inside out and was thus wearing my knickers on the outside - a particularly bright red, lacy and very racy pair to boot.

But however embarrassing those incidents may have been, they pale into insignificance when compared to my imaginary house fire.

It is the middle of winter. I have come home from work with a particularly severe cold and feel so ill that I dose myself with the full contents of the medicine cabinet, turn up the central heating to blast furnace level and fall into bed at five o'clock in the afternoon. An hour or so later, I half wake, realise I am too hot and, rather than go downstairs and adjust the heating thermostat, I fling open a few windows and take off my pyjamas before falling asleep again.

I wake up hours later coughing. It is very dark as, opening my eyes, I realise that my bedroom is full of smoke. Now, before reading any further, please remind yourself that I am not well and am under the influence of every cold relief drug known to man...

I walk downstairs. As I do, I can hear crackling and see flickering orange lights so I draw the obvious conclusion that my house is on fire.

It is an old terraced house on the high street of a small town. Downstairs are two reception room, one leading directly onto the street, the other, with the door firmly closed, containing my telephone. I can see that the fire isn't in my front room therefore it must be in the back room, right? But how to reach the telephone to summon assistance, if doin
g so means facing an inferno?

My fevered brain comes up with the answer. It is, after all, the early hours of the morning and the streets outside are likely to be deserted. I can slip out of the front door and down the adjacent passageway between my house and the one next door unnoticed and peep through the back window to see if it is safe to get to the 'phone.

I open the front door and step outside. As the door slams shut behind me, I simultaneously realise several things...

Firstly, I am now locked out of my house. Secondly, I am stark naked. Thirdly, it is not the middle of the night as I had assumed but about 9.00 pm and my house fire is, in fact, a burning van on the street outside - a burning van that has attracted a crowd of spectators who now have something far more interesting to look at. Ever been pushed stark naked through a casement window by an RAC man in hysterics? No? Well, I have...

I'm flushed with embarrassment now and I haven't even told you about the time I got my finger stuck in the plastic handle of a lawnmower and had to be rescued by the fire brigade. I haven't mentioned setting fire to my chest on Christmas Day, carrying a flaming pudding into the dining room. I daren't even think about the conversation I once had with my GP at complete cross-purposes at a dinner party, when he was talking about Pooh Bear and I, having misheard,thought we were discussing Pubic Hair.

However, just to prove that I'm not the only klutz in existence, I'm going to close by relating a second-hand embarrassing moment that happened to a friend of mine. I know it actually happened - I was there.

My friend is notoriously absent minded. One evening, he, his family and friends went to eat a celebration meal at a very exclusive (and expensive) country house hotel. My friend, who professed to be somewhat overawed by the salubriousness of his surroundings, excused himself before dinner to vis
it the little boys room. In his usual miles away state, he was urinating and was in mid stream when the door suddenly opened and a crowd of elderly women walked in. Only then did he realise that he was, in fact, in the little girls room, urinating in the wash hand basin.

Strange...we've never been back to that particular restaurant.

And the moral of the tale? Never, ever make promises at Dooyoo meetings!

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