 |
|
|
The True Story of a Most Embarrassing Moment
I’m a little neurotic about hygiene and
restroom habits in particular. Despite
the fact that a cleaning service came
to our home twice a week, I was
required to wipe the restrooms down
daily to ensure that all potential
supplicants of the throne could sit
with confidence. Needless to say, this
neurosis is something that makes
traveling….interesting. I’m the girl
who can hover without making contact
with the toilet seat. It gave me great
pride that I could still flush with my
foot when I was nine months pregnant.
Here is the ninny who washes her hands
and turns off the water by using an
elbow. Instead of grasping a bathroom
doorknob with my bare hand, I either
pull my arm up my sleeve and use the
sleeve as a barrier or I find paper
towels, open the door, prop the door
open with my foot, and sink a three
point shot (although I sometimes miss
the basket).
These quirks have been reinforced by
the voice of bitter experience. For
example, there was the time when I was
desperate for a potty. My grandmother
had taken us out to visit some friends
of hers who quite literally lived in an
old school bus. All of the seats had
been removed and the bus had been
converted into a dwelling; It even had
a wood stove. As innovative as these
friends were, I wish they’d remembered
to install a toilet for the convenience
of their guests. Instead, I was forced
to trot off to the outhouse. I
tentatively approached the cavernous
hole. With many misgivings, I
unbuckled my overalls and very
carefully lowered my backside onto the
wooden ring. At the time, I was
worried about getting a splinter in my
bottom, but in retrospect I should have
been worried about the wasp which
picked that very moment to voice it’s
disapproval of my precarious position.
I shot out of that outhouse, tripping
over my overalls, grabbing my bare
behind and screaming bloody murder. As
I hopped around blubbering, I observed
that my brother was bent over,
clutching his sides, and howling with
laughter.
Fast forward twelve years to a trip in
India. At the time, I was with a
Christian missions program in Andhra
Pradesh. One unfortunate evening, we
were in a village where most of the
people had never even seen a
Caucasian. I remember the children
being very curious and quite forward in
touching our skin and hair. We were in
the middle of an evening of ministry
when all of a sudden, I had the
overwhelming urge to ‘DOWNLOAD’ and I
don’t mean plug in my computer and
receive the latest software update. It
was very clear to me that I had all of
forty five seconds to choose my
‘facilities’ before I became a walking
biohazard. I motioned with great
distress to my interpreter and
whispered my request. He then very
loudly communicated my need to the
hostess in Telegu. So not only was the
hostess aware, all of the locals in
attendance were advised of my situation
as well. The lady in her sari motioned
and led me five feet away from the
group of villagers behind a screen
which was punctuated with holes that
were at least two inches square.
Needless to say the weave of the
grasses on the screen was not tight
enough for prying eyes to avoid. To
make matters worse, there was no hole
or bucket to void into.
In utter desperation, I ran out behind
the house and found a palm tree. I
braced my back against the tree,
carefully lifted my ankle length skirt,
and proceeded to attend to the business
at hand. I am horrified to report that
Indians don’t celebrate the Fourth of
July, because I provided all of the
fireworks required for such a holiday.
Even worse, I began to hear yelling. I
glanced to my left and realized I’d
chosen someone’s front lawn as my
port-o-let. Furthermore, this poor man
was sleeping on the front porch not
three feet from the tree I had
selected! He screamed at me in Telugu
and I yelled back in English. At last
I emerged, humiliated and crying. As
usual, my brother was on hand to
witness my humiliation. He was laughing
as he said, “They just wanted to see if
you were white all over. Hahahaha!
Hey, be careful where you download!”
“Dear God, Please Upload Me!”
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be right now. CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.
|
|
|
