Have you ever been sitting around, minding your own beeswax, when suddenly every single stupid and embarrassing thing you’ve ever said or done comes flooding back to you? Things that no one else who was involved in ever thought about again, but suddenly you want to crawl under a rock and die from humiliation?
OH GOD, HOW COULD I HAVE SAID THAT?! WHAT WAS I THINKING?! I’LL NEVER SHOW MY FACE AGAIN!!
I know I do. I have NO idea why I torture myself in such a manner. It’s like my brain suddenly clicks and says “Hey, you know what we haven’t thought about in a while? The time you started your period just as you were getting on a charter bus with 60 of your classmates to drive thirteen plus hours to Canada and bled through your brand new khakis and couldn’t change because your luggage was already loaded!”
There’s no way I will admit just how long ago that was, but trust me when I say it was a LONG time, and there is NO good reason for my brain to dredge that shit up.
The reason I brought this up is because my brain is at it again, and with a far more recent mortifying moment. What I’m hoping is that by telling this story, it will get out of my brain and never bother me again- kinda like when a song gets stuck in your head and the only way to get it the fuck out is to hear it. It’s worth a shot, damnit!
Here goes nothin’: My brother is only 22 months older than me. That closeness in age meant that we hated each other until our twenties; ain’t sibling love grand?
Since then, we’ve gotten much closer. I wouldn’t call us BFF’s (but I WOULD call him Biff, because that is his name. Yes, I am serious) but we can talk about a lot of subjects that friends would. Love lives, drama, the crazy ass women he gets involved with, raising kids. He’s terribly flaky, but every now and then he’ll go through a week where he shows up at my house every single day.
A few months ago, he dropped off the map. NO ONE could get a hold of him. It actually got to the point where I left a note on his windshield at his house (just a few blocks from mine) to call me and let me know he was alive. That shitbrick didn’t! When I finally saw him again, at Thanksgiving dinner held at my Dad’s house, he had gained a considerable amount of weight. It was jarring. He’s NEVER been even SLIGHTLY over weight. This is the man who prided himself on having a six pack and was working toward being a black belt. I couldn’t believe my frickin’ eyes!!!
I’m not one of those asshole family members who points out a sudden weight gain, growth of boobs, or giant pimple- so I didn’t breathe a word. I didn’t see him again after that until Christmas, and he had LOST a considerable amount of weight. Must be fucking nice to be able lose 20 pounds in a month!
Now that his weight was gone, of course I had to bring it up. Surrounded by family, we started discussing working out, and I mentioned that I’m struggling with it because my bad back prevents me from being able to do anything that strains the front of my neck, like upper crunches, without seriously hurting myself. Of course, I demonstrated.
Without missing a beat, my brother chimes in with “that really sucks for Thomas!” followed by my step-sister “no way! I’d just lay there and make him do all the work!”
OH MY GOD NO! YOU DID NOT JUST… BUT I… NO! GAH! AWKWARD!
I don’t embarrass easily (I am the girl who wrote about publicly pooping my pants as an adult)- but with everyone listening and laughing- oh yeah, I definitely wanted to find a nice big rock to squeeze myself under. The mental picture of my brother imitating me and my poor neck doing the horizontal mambo is one that I think has burned itself into my brain, popping into my head at the most inopportune times.
Why couldn’t the extreme forgetfulness of mommy brain extend to the blush-worthy moments of my life? I’d MUCH rather forget those than why I walked into a room or the dates of my appointments.
Please stop Complimenting my kids’ “Good” Behavior goo.gl/fb/rwfojS
Hard pass from me pic.twitter.com/VayvW1eopK
I've gotten to the point where I'd let my kids summon a demon with a Ouija board before I'd let them play Monopoly together again.
Parenthood is when you start counting the minutes to bed time before 11am.
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