It’s interesting to note that most of these stories involve bodily functions. Does anyone have an embarrassing story not involving urine or fecies?
It was embarrassing when I took my kitten to get neutered, only to find out that it was a girl cat. I’d had her for about 2 weeks and was pretty confident in her masculinity. In my defense, she does have two round tufts of fur that look just like testicles. I promise! But I still should have known better. When the news came out that she was actually a girl, my classmates had the laugh of their lives. I felt like such a dummy.
This happened in vet school.
Well, there was the time I shit on the wall but I already have mentioned that twice on this board.
One time in 4th grade I was in class reading (it was our 20 minute silent reading period) and I had to sneeze. I sneezed real hard and in doing this, lost control of certain muscles, in doing so I let out one of the loudest farts ever. Two or three people giggled and others just smiled. That was pretty embarassing.
Can’t think of anything else at the moment. Nowadays I’m proud of my loud farts… 
Oh yeah, just thought of one. One day in a parking lot someone needed a jump start. I was driving my moms car and forgot how to open the hood on her car. This is a '94 geo tracker and its truck release is mounted in the weirdest place I have ever seen. In the glove box in the form of a little black lever that can’t be seen, you have to feel for it.
It happened to my sister, but I was there so I think it counts. When she was about four, my sister and I, I’m older, both got a pack of eight crayons in our Easter baskets. A few days later I ran out of green and went to borrow hers. There was no green, in fact, there were hardly any colors left. I asked her where they’d gone, she said she ate them. Well, as official busybody and big sister of the family, I reported this to my mom. Mom questioned her and fond out that lil’ sis hadn’t actually eaten them, she’d placed them, ahem, inside herself. All you have to do is show her a crayon and she turns purple with embarrassment even all these years later.
Weird thing is, I remember most the doctor who removed them, all in little bits, actually made an honest to goodness house call. It was the late seventies and he wasn’t a friend of the family or anything. Oh yeah, the red ones were the hardest to find.
(slight hijack)
Well, I didn’t, but the doctors knew right away how to fix it. Two of them discussed whether I ought to have a D&C right then and decided not to buck the system. This was a few months before Roe v. Wade and legal abortion so they had to be very careful not to do anything that might look like an abortion to the hospital review committee. They kept me overnight, gave me a shot of something to clot the blood, and assured me that I hadn’t lost a life-threatening amount (really? It only looked like there had been an ax murder). And, after six more weeks of bleeding, although never again that bad, I got my D&C.
Well actually some of these involve blood. Bodily functions, yes, those are big embarrassments. But I have all kinds. I went to an office party and was wearing the same dress as one of my bosses (I had three or four bosses at the time). So we were laughing about our good taste. Then I saw this really cute guy across the room so I asked her if she knew who it was. Yep. Her husband. At that point she edged away from me. Too similar tastes, I guess. Fortunately I didn’t have to start working over my resume because I had the other three bosses to get work from.
Hijack continuing: Most “regular” tampons aren’t all that big, maybe 1/2" in diameter and only a couple inches long. The vagina is pretty elastic too - as having sex and delivering babies through it will confirm- and so it’s not really that big of a deal. I’d think it’d be more noticeable than wearing one, and probably only minorly uncomfortable.
IMO, embarrassing stories are just better if they involve bodily fluids (the more projectile, the better), but here’s one from this past weekend which I think has permanently altered my Karma:
So on Saturday evening, SkipMagic and I decided to head up to the Arby’s drive-thru near my house for a nice, calorie-laden treat. When we arrived at the drive-thru, we were met with a heavily exaggerated Southern accent coming over the loudspeaker, asking us if we’d like to try the Big Montana.
“Heh,” I thought. “Some high-school kid, trying to make a minimum-wage shift a little more entertaining for himself. King of his high school drama club I’m guessing, because while the accent is good, it smacks of excessive effort.”
I think you can see where this is going.
I decided to engage Junior in a little Accent Repartee, because hell, my dad’s from Texas–I’ve got the stuff.
“NOEW THANK YEW,” I called into the speaker. “I’MO HAV UH CHICKEN FANGER DINNER WITH CURLY FRAHS AN’ A DOCTUR PEPPUR PLUUUEEZE.”
By now SkipMagic is looking at me like I’ve just dropped trou, spread my cheeks and blown a juicy one right into the face of Mother Theresa.
On International Television.
The voice on the other end repeated my order, this time with an even more egregious accent, so I kept up our little riff, thinking, “Aren’t we cute?”
I’m not sure exactly when my Normally Functioning Brain kicked in, but at some point, mid-sentence, I figured it out:
The guy on the other end of the speaker wasn’t messing around–THAT WAS HIS NORMAL VOICE.
:eek: :o :eek: :o :eek: :o :smack: :smack: :smack:
If I’d had any sense, I’d have kept up the charade, in hopes of convincing him that I’d been using MY normal voice, too.
Instead I retreated back into my regular voice, threw in a heapin’ helpin’ of nervous laughter and, when our business at the speaker had been completed, begged SkipMagic to let me hop into the trunk before we arrived at the payment window.
What I ended up doing, however, was sitting in silent, burning agony as we waited an extra 5 minutes at the window for my chicken fingers to cook.
I couldn’t even look at the guy.
I’m never going to Arby’s again (granted, that’s probably a GOOD thing, but . . . ).
OK, I"m in.
Several years ago, my now ex-wife and I moved into a new house on a beautiful wooded lot. Lots of pine trees, which are perfect for growing azaleas under. I didn’t know it at the time, but ticks also like to live in pine straw.
For some reason known only to God, that particular year was very, very good for tick reproduction - and the world’s tick nursery was in a pine grove on MY property. One afternoon I proceeded to spend several hours in the pine grove planting azaleas, rhododendrons, camellias, etc. Unbeknownest to me, microscopic seed ticks were working their way up my legs to their favorite biting spot - under your underwear (it is a favorite biting spot of mine as well, but for much different reasons).
After a good days work I rested on the deck with a cold beer, observing my handiwork and becoming an all-you-can-eat buffet for the ticks. They particularly liked my…well,…my scrotum. Things begin to feel a little itchy after a while (hey, scratching your nuts is one of the inalienable rights this great country was founded on), so I gave a light scratch. Mistake.
As nearly everyone knows, itches are self-perpetuating. The more you scratch, the more it itches. Well, imagine hundreds of little ticks biting you in the nuts. It itches. Believe me, it itches. And so I scratched and I scratched until I thought “Hm, now I like giving the boys a scratch as much as the next guy, but this is getting ridiculous. What the hell’s going on?” I then proceeded to head to the shower.
MY GOD! I"M BEING EATEN ALIVE! Not only that, but I’m having some sore of reaction and things are starting to swell and turn a decidedly tomato-shade of red. I take a hot shower (and I mean HOT - scalding hot). That only makes matters worse. I then completely take total leave of my senses and dose the effected area in rubbing alcohol.
I don’t know where you were in the summer of 1991, but if you were anywhere near the vicinity of Central Virginia, you may recall hearing an otherwordly scream about 3:00 in the afternoon. That was me, applying rubbing alcohol to my tick-eaten, scratched-raw, scalded testicles.
A trip to the emergency room ensued because things were just not improving. An antihistamine eased the itch, and cool compresses eased the scald, but the swelling took a few days to go down. It looked like I had a cantaloupe in my pants, and I walked like Fred Sandford for a few days.
There. Now you know. Happy?
Too funny - plnnr, everyone is asking why I’m crying! Ummmm cause a guy had a tick infestation on his scrotum??
Bwa ha ha ha <<sniff>>
Seriously, I hope you’re OK now, but Da-yum! That was funny!
Well, there’s the ever-popular teenage angst of boinking your girlfriend at home and having your mother walk in on you in mid-stroke, causing both severe coitus interruptus and this condition → :(
Not to mention deathly silence from the girlfriend, which has lasted for 35 some-odd years now…
A couple of years ago, I went to a Dinner and a Murder Mystery party with some friends. The cast of characters looked like this:
Hannah Bolter—Xochitl
Hannah Sherman, originally Ian Vistine—Rusty Pick
Jake Sherman—Don Juan Diablo
Emily Intfen—Kay Pasa
Naomi Allmayer—Windy Skies
Elliot Kort—Warren Peace
Me—Senorita Bonita
For giving me this character, I will love Jake until the end of time, despite the fact that he only did it so Elliot, then my boyfriend, would be (in the game) my fiancé. Because of my obviously Spanish name, I had to dress Mexican—none too difficult, considering my grandmother, God love her, has a penchant for buying rather…loud…clothing.
So from her I borrowed wildly coloured flowing pants and the matching wraparound top. She said to me, “Arianne, you had better wear a chemise underneath, just in case.” I waved away this suggestion.
“I’ll be okay.” She is doubtful. “Okay…tell me what happens, if you have fun.” This I could do. “Okay!”
I go to the party, which is a great success until we go outside to dance. Ignoring the fact that my boyfriend is there and I am therefore self-conscious, I begin to dance with Hannah, Naomi, Jake and the rest of them. Suddenly, Hannah Sherman (Jake’s little sister) comes up to me and points at me.
“Uhm, Annie, your shirt.” I look down at myself. My shirt had apparently come untied and was hanging there, brazenly displaying my bra for all to see. I cursed that I had not worn the chemise.
Now, I should have wrapped it back up and quietly slipped inside. Instead, I freaked out and went flying inside and down to the basement where I tied my shirt and hid out until Jake came looking for me.
Then Elliot, my boyfriend, ragged on me about it all night. WE, uh, broke up soon after.
Okay, I have one that does not involve bodily fluids.
One time a few years back I was at this party. This girl walked in who was truly hot. Over the course of the next few hours, I injested a good amount of alcohol (and another substance which will not be mentioned). Anyway, one of my friends noticed me looking at her and asked me what I thought of her. I said I was digging her. He jokingly asked me if I’d do her.
This is when I had one of those moments when everyone in the room stopped talking except me, while I needlessly raised the volume of my voice. I said in a rather loud voice,
“Hell yeah, I’d like to fuck her!”
Everyone stopped and stared. I covered my face with a pillow and promptly passed out.
Lord Ashtar, I have a similar story from high school, in which everyone grew silent as a mouse just in time to hear me yell, “No, the governor has no morals!”
Did I mention that the governor’s son was in the room?
I didn’t even have the good sense to pass out.
I’ll play.
Greenville, SC, had (has?) a 4th of July hot air balloon event called Freedom Weekend Aloft. I joined up with some balloonists when they came to my college town for a small race, and they asked a frat brother and me to go with them to the Greenville race.
On this particular night, I was asked to hold the top line whie the balloon inflated. It’s one of the more important crew jobs, because you have to keep the envelope still on the ground, and to steady it as it heats up. Disaster can happen if you’re not careful.
The race was based in an old air force base turned industrial park, and the temperature was a couple degrees short of blast furnace. Of course, I was dressed very lightly, and the winds were acceptable for a launch, but strong enough that we would be busy.
We laid out the balloon, and at the given time, started inflation. I looped the topline around my butt so I could use it like a sling. All was well, and I didn’t have much trouble keeping the envelope steady. Jeff, the pilot, lit off the burner, and started to heat the air. As the air heated, the balloon started to rise, and I started walking in. Then, IT happened. A large gust came by, and slammed the envelope into the ground in front of me. The envelope bounced, and because the topline was still looped around my ass, I was carried about 6 feet into the air, and then slammed into the ground hard. I never let go of my rope even when the dragging pulled my shorts and underwear down to my knees. There I was, in front of several thousand people, showing off Bob Jr. and the boys, because I couldn’t let go of my rope to pull my britches up.
One of the other crew members came to my aid, and I even got a date out of the deal.
Okay, another non-body fluid related one:
I used to fix computers at the local medical school for a living. One day, two of my coworkers (student assistants) and I were in an office on the second floor, banging away at a computer, trying to get it to work. Someone I’d never seen before strolls by, pokes his head in, and asks, “Who are you guys?” He was wearing an ordinary lab coat, and I figured he was just some doctor I hadn’t met before.
Ever the wag, I said, “We’re the band. I play lead wax-paper-and-comb.”
He said, “Oh. Well, I’m Dr. Smith, the new president of the HSC.”
And that’s how I met the new president of the HSC.
I’m game…
I actually have two stories that I can recall where I was most embarassed…
First, I was about 8 years old and had just gone through the “potty mouth” stage of my youth. Well being raised Southern Baptist that little offense was more serious than you know. So I prayed really hard and asked God to help me not curse anymore yada, yada, yada…so a week goes by and I haven’t used the Lord’s name in vain, or used any colorful metaphors, or declared any synonyms of bodily waste in any explicitive fashion. Needless to say I was proud of myself for having such control and showing so much maturity for my years. However my command of Biblical vocabulary wasnt up to par. I was riding in the car with my mom when we had this conversation:
Me- Mom, I have been really proud of myself lately.
Mom- Why is that, honey?
Me- Because I havent fornicated in over a week.
This is the point where my mother has to pull over because she can’t see the road anymore since she is laughing so hard that tears are coming out of her eyes. She asked me if I knew what that word meant, and I said of course it means to use foul language…she continued to laugh and introduced me to the dictionary when we got home.
Second, when I graduated from nursing school I got a job on the rehab unit of a local hospital. It was basically the nursing home of the place used to transfer little old ladies out to long term residential centers.
Well, we had this one woman for about a month. She was about 80 and all the nurses including myself really took a shine to her. She was was very sweet and her family was very nice and we didnt mind going out of our way to make her comfortable. The biggest problem was she was very soft spoken so you had to strain your ears when she had anything to say in order to understand her. I was her nurse the night before she was to be discharged to an outside nursing facility. So while tucking her in that night I let her know that I enjoyed taking care of her and asked if she needed anything else. She asked me to turn off her radio…which I did. She asked me to turn the lights on low but not off…which I was happy to do. The she asked, “Can I kiss you?”
Well I was a little stunned but thought oh well, no harm, I dont mind a little grandmotherly peck on the cheek for a job well done. So I lean down so she can render said kiss when she has this look of horror and confusion on her face and asks her question again, “Can I have a tissue?”
I stood right back up, handed her the box of Kleenex and jetted out of there totally red in the face for having misunderstood her. I made the mistake of telling a nursing friend of mine who blabbed it to the entire floor. So the next time I showed up to work they gathered at the nurses station with Kleenex in their hands saying, “Can we have a kiss too?” Luckily I transferred not too long after that.
Can we please get back to the bodily function stories? I’m feeling alone. and besides, they are truly the most embarrassing moments of our lives. Not to take away from everyone else’s pain, but out side of being dragged pants less in front of people (and hey you did at least get a date out of it) Milking ass Boils, and parents give out herpes meds (and again we don’t know how she got the script) for pimples is truly priceless.
So I implore all of you with tales of excretions, please join the fun. You’re among friends here.
I attended a pinning ceremony for my cousin, who was graduating from nursing school. I also knew another girl in her class (we went to the same church).
I was about 3 months pregnant and was just starting to outgrow regular clothes. I chose to wear my favorite outfit (non-maternity). Everything fit pretty well when I was standing, but when I sat in the auditorium I noticed my buttons were a bit strained through the chest.
Making a mental note to be careful, I began to try to entertain my 2-year-old nephew during the ceremony. He climbed on and off my lap several times before toddling back to his mom. After a few minutes I felt a chill. Looking down, I saw that the whole top 3/4 of my shirt had come undone. When I looked around to see if anyone noticed, I saw my minister and his wife across the way. They were too far to talk to, but close enough to see that they had noticed my bit of show and tell.
I couldn’t shake his hand for several weeks after that.
PS. This will one day embarrass my daughter (who is now 2 and 1/2):
I helped her get on the potty before bedtime. She looked up and said, “Mommy, you go in other room. I be for while.” I told her that it was time for bed and that she couldn’t be for a while. She pointed her finger at me and said, “You go to other room. My poopy’s dangerous.”
I can’t wait for her first serious boyfriend to hear that one!
I can top that!!. In my younger days I worked swingshift for a large airplane manufacturer. On Fridays, we would get off at midnight and visit a popular bar. As most guys that go to bars hoping snag a little wild thing, the later the hour, the skankier the women. By midnight, the pickings are kind of lean. After a couple of pitchers of beer one Friday, I ended up in the sack with someone who I thought rated pretty low on the skank meter. A few weeks later I noticed some little red critters had taken up residence with the family jewels. I tried various treatments but none was really effective. One morning in a desparate attempt to relieve myself of the little carpetbaggers, I decided to try some lighter fluid. Yep, the stuff made for Zippo lighters. As anyone that has overfilled a lighter only to have it leak through their pocket knows, you end up with a nice chemical burn on your leg. I sprayed some on a cotton ball and commenced to dabbing it on my nutsack.
Just about the time I had them all swimming in naptha, the
stinging started. Soon it was burning. I jumped into the shower and tried to wash it off but it did not help. The boys were soon bright red and swollen twice the normal size. I tried to go to work that night but the discomfort force me to leave and seak medical help.
The nurse at the emergency room was very helpful and did not laugh. That is she did not laugh till she went into an exam room and told a couple of her co-workers. For some reason they all thought it was very funny. When the doctor came in to look at me it appeared he had just finished having a good laugh at my misfortune. The good news, the lighter fluid almost did the trick. There were only a few crabs left by then and the doctor had a male nurse pluck them with a pair of tweezers. I was then treated for the chemical burns. After the doctor told me I was lucky, there are things a whole lot worse that I could catch, I decided to start going straight home after work on Friday nights.
Well, I was taking my final for a history course in college. Dead silence in the room. Out of nowhere…
FWWWAPPPPTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
A machine gun fart blew out of my ass startling the other students and the professor. Everyone was gazing around with stunned expressions, but I kept scribbling away in the old blue book. I managed to turn in my exam and leave the room without making eye contact with anyone, never to be seen again.