Well folks, my Awkward Story Tourette’s has gotten worse. Much, much, MUCH worse. We have friends in town and their presence combined with FIL’s (Father-n-law) means my babbling blurts have progressed from vaguely embarrassing sexual observations to outright cringing stories about me and mine.
Last night, while sitting about the fire pit with FIL, Husband and a few friends, I talked about (in no particular order): my womb, my wombectomy, my friend's wombectomy, the pleasure party I threw for girlfriends that was led by an octogenarian British woman, the ex that cheated on my and the resulting demand that Husband get tested before he touched 'this' (as I gestured to my body), Husband's first doc appointment in the USA where he was "violated by a man", Husband's second doc appointment where he was "violated by a woman", our first official face to face date where we talked for hours, our fourth date where at a comedy show a comedian said that the Vikings didn't rape and pillage Scotland because the woman were too ugly and Husband got mad, my periods, my ultrasound where the woman “found” my womb, the vasectomy that Husband owes me because he lost a bet ... There's more. I can't remember what but I know there's more. I couldn't stop. The giggle in my head would override the calm and logical and reasonable side and I would just keep blurting out the horror, actually looking at FIL before I launched into stories. Sure, I would apologize first but then, even though I knew I was heading into tacky territory, I would just continue full speed into embarrassment. The more outrageous the tale, the faster and louder I talked so I could be sure get the best of my worst out there. And this time, there were witnesses. Willing (ish) participants who watched me digging little emotional blackmail holes all over the conversation. My only saving grace is that three of the six of the folks at my fire pit overshare don’t live here. And that two of those three that don’t live here I am not related to. And that they already thought Americans were bonkers anyway. I’ve only reinforced that stereotype tenfold. Whatever. The really good thing is that none of them were recording the horror and they’re all old like me so their shoddy memory should take care of the worst parts. And the incredibly far-fetched content of the stories will make the spectacle of me telling them sound unbelievable and unreal. And FIL was drinking so I can only hope that the booze will blur some of the worst and that his inability to understand me will take care of the rest. Perhaps he will just think that I’m charming. Yeah, odds are not good on that happening. Daughters-in-law who discuss their periods in a social situation aren’t considered charming. I’m checking into verbal diarrhea rehab as soon as FIL leaves. I’d do it now but I can only hope that I’ll say something that will make him not want to come back. I think I’ve got a few more horrors in me that will make the humiliation of listening to me blurt not worth the trip. I mean, I haven’t told him about the time when we were pre-teens having a sleepover at my house and we tried ‘seducing’ the pizza man while wearing my mother’s lingerie. Only my mother doesn’t have lingerie so what we were wearing was her slips and bras as we stood there awkwardly at the door giving the pizza man our very best “come hither” look while trying to hide the fact we all had braces and pimples, our breast-lets thrust in his general direction... yeah, that ought to have him cancel his yearly vacation to America.
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AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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