October 2005


I thought I’d had some embarrassing first dates, but after reading the following account, I’m sure you’ll join me in passing the crown and sceptre over to this couple:

Jay Leno went into the audience to find the most embarrassing first date that a woman ever had. The winner described her worst first date experience. There was absolutely no question as to why her tale took the prize!

She said it was midwinter… snowing and quite cold… and the guy had taken her skiing in the mountains outside Salt Lake City, Utah. It was a day trip (no overnight). They were strangers, after all, and truly had never met before. The outing was fun but relatively uneventful until they were headed home late that afternoon. They were driving back down the mountain, when she gradually began to realize that she should not have had that extra latte. They were about an hour away from anywhere with a rest room and in the middle of nowhere!

Her companion suggested she try to hold it, which she did for a while. Unfortunately, because of the heavy snow and slow going, there came a point where she told him that he had better stop and let her pee beside the road, or it would be the front seat of his car.

They stopped and she quickly crawled out beside the car, yanked her pants down and started. In the deep snow she didn’t have good footing, so she let her butt rest against the rear fender to steady herself. Her companion stood on the side of the car watching for traffic and indeed was a real gentleman and refrained from peeking.

All she could think about was the relief she felt despite the rather embarrassing nature of the situation.

Upon finishing however, she soon became aware of another sensation. As she bent to pull up her pants, the young lady discovered her buttocks were firmly glued against the car’s fender.

Thoughts of tongues frozen to pump handles immediately came to mind as she attempted to disengage her flesh from the icy metal. It was quickly apparent that she had a brand new problem due to the extreme cold.

Horrified by her plight and yet aware of the humor of the moment, she answered her date’s concerns about “what is taking so long” with a reply that indeed, she was “freezing her butt off and in need of some assistance!”

He came around the car as she tried to cover herself with her sweater and then, as she looked imploringly into his eyes, he burst out laughing. She too, got the giggles and when they finally managed to compose themselves, they assessed her dilemma. Obviously, as hysterical as the situation was, they also were faced with a real problem Both agreed it would take something hot to free her chilly cheeks from the grip of the icy metal!

Thinking about what had gotten her into the predicament in the first place, both quickly realized that there was only one way to get her free.

So, as she looked the other way, her first-time date proceeded to unzip his pants and pee her butt off the fender.

As the audience screamed in laughter, she took the Tonight Show prize hands down… or perhaps that should be “pants down.” And you thought your first date was embarrassing.

Jay Leno’s comment, . “This gives a whole new meaning to being pissed off.”

Do you have a first date story that will top this one? If so, please do share!

I did it!

Yes I did.

What did I do,

you ask?

Picture it:

7:55 a.m. Friday, October 28, 2005

I ran/walked down the hallway of my apartment building, my nose scrunched as I held my breath to avoid inhaling the stale fish smell of the paint primer, which had been bothering my breathing all week.

As I arrived in the foyer, I saw the glorious yellow that signals, “Cab Company” of the car idling there and I smiled and said, Yes, to myself as I pictured my triumphant arrival at 8:20 a.m. instead of 9:05 a.m. had I waited for the bus. I’m supposed to be at work by 8:00.

A minute later, as I clambered into the back seat of the cab, I actually saw the identity of the driver and my jubilation evaporated and I silently screamed, “Nooooooooooooo!”
That scream was followed by the broken pieces of the picture in my mind’s eye, falling like shards of glass from a broken mirror.

This driver was the same driver who had brought my mom and I home from the grocery on Saturday. She’d driven way too slow, stopped at yellow, green and red lights and smoked the nastiest smelling cigar or cheroot with the windows closed.

You may ask, what’s the big deal? Why didn’t I just tell the female cow to step on the gas, ask her to put out the cigarette and/or open the windows and threaten to withhold a tip as the last resort?

Well…if you know me at all, that’s not my style. I will run 20 kilos to avoid an argument or confrontation of any kind. As for speaking up for myself in uncomfortable situations? Naaahhh. Suffer in silence has always been my motto; I can’t stand being cussed out. So I normally am defeated by the situation and waaay after the moment is past and probably long forgetten by the perpetrator, I come up with comebacks or witticisms that would have suited the situation perfectly…ohh for a “Do Over” button.

But, this morning, you would have been soooo proud!

We were driving along, talking. (Well, I was talking and she was nodding and grunting. I had decided to let bygones be bygones from Saturday and was my usual ebullient self.)

“How are you today?” I asked,

“Looks like it’s going to be a cold winter…” I said, when I saw her hand disappear from sight and reappear—with—the cigarette.

All conversation paused, and in what seemed like an hour, but was probably a minute, I watched as she lit it and placed it to her lips. She took a puff, exhaled and I watched as the white cloud of smoke came towards me. I don’t know if I could distinguish, which hit me first, the smell or the fumes.

I just knew it wasn’t happening this morning.

So I quietly asked, “Would you please not smoke? It affects my breathing.” There was no response, and ordinarily, like the former shy person that I was, I would have let it go and console myself with the thought that at least, I did try.

But I knew she heard me. Maybe it was the slight tilt of her head, or the straightening of her spine…but I knew, she’d heard me. So I again said quietly, “Excuse me…EX-cuse meee?” She had to acknowledge me that time, “I asked, would you please not smoke? It affects my breathing.”

She tried the old window opening, trick, but I was ready for her. I slid my hands into my bag and pulled out my inhaler. I shook it with more vigor than was warranted so it made a nice healthy rattle. In an Academy Award winning performance, I then uncorked it and with more audible sound effects, took two puffs and returned the inhaler to my bag.

When I saw her pitch the still lit cigarette out of the window, I took that as a sign of defeat on her part, so I then graciously pointed out that she’d forgotten to turn on the meter.

Did I feel guilty about not mentioning her oversight? About as guilty as she felt running up the tab on Saturday and overcharging me. She tried to run the meter up by driving slowly, but it was a no go. As I arrived at my office, she tried to get twenty-five dollars out of me. I gave her twenty-three dollars, wished her a wonderful day and stepped out of her cab doing a mental praise dance.

It’s rare, that I have the opportunity for a “Do Over.” I thought I handled it pretty well…don’t you?

Praise Dance

I did it! Yes I did. What did I do, you ask?

Picture it:

7:55 a.m. Friday, October 28, 2005

I ran/walked down the hallway of my apartment building, my nose scrunched as I held my breath to avoid inhaling the stale fish smell of the paint primer, which had been bothering my breathing all week.

As I arrived in the foyer, I saw the glorious yellow that signals, “Cab Company? of the car idling there and I smiled and said, Yes, to myself as I pictured my triumphant arrival at 8:20 a.m. instead of 9:05 a.m. had I waited for the bus. I’m supposed to be at work by 8:00.

A minute later, as I clambered into the back seat of the cab, I actually saw the identity of the driver and my jubilation evaporated and I silently screamed, “Nooooooooooooo!? That scream was followed by the broken pieces of the picture in my mind’s eye, falling like shards of glass from a broken mirror.

This driver was the same driver who had brought my mom and I home from the grocery on Saturday. She’d driven way too slow, stopped at yellow, green and red lights and smoked the nastiest smelling cigar or cheroot with the windows closed.

You may ask, what’s the big deal? Why didn’t I just tell the female cow to step on the gas, ask her to put out the cigarette and/or open the windows and threaten to withhold a tip as the last resort?

Well…if you know me at all, that’s not my style. I will run 20 kilos to avoid an argument or confrontation of any kind. As for speaking up for myself in uncomfortable situations? Naaahhh. Suffer in silence has always been my motto; I can’t stand being cussed out. So I normally am defeated by the situation and waaay after the moment is past and probably long forgetten by the perpetrator, I come up with comebacks or witticisms that would have suited the situation perfectly…ohh for a “Do Over? button.

But, this morning, you would have been soooo proud!

We were driving along, talking. (Well, I was talking and she was nodding and grunting. I had decided to let bygones be bygones from Saturday and was my usual ebullient self.)

“How are you today?? I asked,

“Looks like it’s going to be a cold winter…? I said, when I saw her hand disappear from sight and reappear—with—the cigarette.

All conversation paused, and in what seemed like an hour, but was probably a minute, I watched as she lit it and placed it to her lips. She took a puff, exhaled and I watched as the white cloud of smoke came towards me. I don’t know if I could distinguish, which hit me first, the smell or the fumes.

I just knew it wasn’t happening this morning.

So I quietly asked, “Would you please not smoke? It affects my breathing.? There was no response, and ordinarily, like the former shy person that I was, I would have let it go and console myself with the thought that at least, I did try.

But I knew she heard me. Maybe it was the slight tilt of her head, or the straightening of her spine…but I knew, she’d heard me. So I again said quietly, “Excuse me…EX-cuse meee?? She had to acknowledge me that time, “I asked, would you please not smoke? It affects my breathing.?

She tried the old window opening, trick, but I was ready for her. I slid my hands into my bag and pulled out my inhaler. I shook it with more vigor than was warranted so it made a nice healthy rattle. In an Academy Award winning performance, I then uncorked it and with more audible sound effects, took two puffs and returned the inhaler to my bag.

When I saw her pitch the still lit cigarette out of the window, I took that as a sign of defeat on her part, so I then graciously pointed out that she’d forgotten to turn on the meter.

Did I feel guilty about not mentioning her oversight? About as guilty as she felt running up the tab on Saturday and overcharging me. She tried to run the meter up by driving slowly, but it was a no go. As I arrived at my office, she tried to get twenty-five dollars out of me. I gave her twenty-three dollars, wished her a wonderful day and stepped out of her cab doing a mental praise dance.

It’s rare, that I have the opportunity for a “Do Over.? I thought I handled it pretty well…don’t you?

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