Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
I’ve always been thankful that I don’t have that complexion that blushes easily and frequently. Not that I never blush, but at least it’s not every day and in every situation 🙂
There have been times, though, that still make me blush when I think about them. Some I would never tell anyone, because something I said or did still makes me ashamed of myself. Others are just embarrassing or very funny, and I could laugh even while I blushed.
I remember checking into the motel where we spent our wedding night. It was a different time, when people weren’t as crude and blatant as they are today. I was not prepared for the guy who checked us in to smirk at us and tell us to have a good time. I mean, how did he know? Yeah, I blushed. Hot and red. Actually, HE should have been the one blushing.
Years later, teaching high school English and history, I had my own kids in my classes. One day, one of my sons kept signaling me and pointing to his chest. I had no idea what he was trying to say until I happened to glance down and realized that three of my buttons had come undone. Oh yes, that was a blushing moment.
Probably, though, the biggest blush came while I was directing the elementary Christmas program at our school. We were rehearsing, and there was a study hall of junior high boys in the back pews of the auditorium. They were supposed to be working, but they weren’t. Of course they weren’t.
It was very cold outside, probably 40 degrees below zero. The air was dry, and static cling was a problem. While the first grade students were singing, I sat down to enjoy their performance. They had worked hard, and they were really cute. I was sitting in front of their teacher, a good friend of mine.
When the kids finished, I stood to direct them down from the platform when my friend behind me hissed, “Linda, sit down! Sit! Right now!” Well, I sat. I turned to look at her, and she was bursting with laughter. “Your skirt is all the way up to your waist! ”
Oh, great. Blushing furiously, thinking of those junior high boys in the back rows, I tugged at my skirt until I was sure I was decent. Just about then, the bell rang and, of course, my next class was with–you guessed it–those same boys.
Well, when you get handed lemons, you make lemonade.
I stood at the door to my classroom, stony-faced and quiet. The guys filed in, not looking at me, not sure how to act with my stern behavior.
When they all were seated, I walked to the front of the room, looked each one in the eyes, unsmiling and sober. Then I said, “I see London. . . . .”
I couldn’t have finished if I’d wanted to. They were laughing so hard, some of them had their heads down on their desks practically in tears. I think it was the relief they felt knowing that it was okay for them to laugh, that they weren’t going to be afraid to look at me.
If you don’t know the significance of “I see London” you’re going to have to look it up to understand the joke. The boys all got it right away. I imagine some of them still remember.