Category: no recovery

  • a little lie

    For as long as I can remember I have hated the word fiancee, so when my boyfriend and I got engaged I would never use it it just always sounded too frooffy or something and after we’d been going out so long I hated saying boyfriend because it made me feel like a little kid or something….so I got into the habit of calling him my partner which also felt weird so I eventually just started calling him my husband. I started driving lessons one day and as we were driving around I was chatting to the instructor, just small talk but I said something like ‘Oh yes my husband and I go there/went there…’ or some such thing, instead of the conversation moving on he becomes really interested in the fact I am “married” and asks me ‘oh when did you get wed?’ ….in a split second I weigh up the situation and instead of saying oh we’re not married yet I just call him that, I blurt out oh about seven noths ago(!!!!?????), does he drop it……NO. Oh where did you get married? I’m like oh emm….we got married in (aaaaahhhh what I am thinking!?) Spain, it was very small, intimate……(oh God please, PLEASE stop asking me about my imaginary wedding!!)…..then he says – What did you wear??!!! – What the hell…what did I wear!! Why is this fifty year old driving instructor asking me what I wore to my non-existant wedding??? It’s too late to go back now so I’m like oh just a lovely dress, a vintage lace dress, it was very nice….dah dah, dah. So ok, I’m rationalising this, it’s a bad situation but he’s just my driving instructor it’s not like he knows me or knows I’m a completely insane wedding fabricator!! …..but of course, what do you know….he then asks me what my boyfriend does, I tell him, he asks his name, I tell him!!!…..and LO AND BEHOLD….he says…’Oh yes, I know him, my friend So-andso goes ski-ing with him(WHY!!?? WHY!!??)….I’m fully freaking out now I’m like oh yeah? Really – wow….cool! The next week he comes and picks me up for the next lesson and starts talking about my boyfriend, his friend etc. I can’t hold out any longer with the fear of him finding out so I pull over the car and I’m like, listen William, I’ve got something to tell you….and I fess up to the whole ridiculous lie going way out of control….he is absolutely laughing his head off, he thinks this is hilarious and assures me that it’s no big deal….I on the other hand go home analysing my very psyche and tell my boyfriend who’s like….oh for God sake not again, you told the ambulance drivers when your scooter crashed(I had crashed my lovely purple vespa about five months prior) that I was your husband and when I arrived they asked me ‘Are you her husband?’ and I said ‘No I’m her boyfriend’………..people are going to start thinking you’re unstable! Oh my goodness I swear – I *really* hope I’m not the only one who does crazy stuff like this….O_o Tanya – Belfast

  • daiquiri times

    Years ago when I had first started going out with my boyfriend he, my sister and I all went out for a drink. She was pregnant at the time, so she was sober. He only had a few beers, but I decided I was going to lash a fruit bowl of daiquiris into me. At home time we ordered a taxi, and I really needed to go to the bathroom. I jumped into the car anyway thinking I could run straight into the house. We hadn’t been dating that long, and we were going back to his house which was like, ten minutes away. On the way back I got so desperate I told my sister, “Oh my God! I REALLY have to use the bathroom.” I mean, I couldn’t even concentrate to speak I was using all my will to hold it in. Finally we got back to the house and MY SISTER being the kind soul she is started winding my boyfriend up and telling him not to let me in. The worst thing about it was that it was really quite funny. The more I tried to really seriously tell them I needed to get into the house, LIKE NOW, the more I laughed. My boyfriend not realising the extremity of the situation (there have been two other drunk wetting accidents) took the key out of his pocket and started really slowly moving it toward the lock, but it was too late. I was pretty drunk, but all I can remember is the warmth of my legs and my sister’s voice going “No, Michael, no, no, no….no, it’s too late, look what you’ve done….” Out of sheer embarassment, I burst out crying and refused to go into the house. He had to coax me in in my soaking wet jeans from the cold, AND THEN because I was so drunk and the jeans had become wet, I couldn’t get them off!! He had to peel them off for me in the hall, then I burst into tears and had a passionate rant about how badly they both treated me and how no-one loved me, and a whole diatribe about my childhood relationship with my mother, sobbing away while he tried to console me and my pregnant sister watched bemused. Luckily it didn’t put him off me and I was wearing her shoes and peed on them!! Haha…….unfortunately in my teenage years I have a lot of embarassing things I did under the influence, but thankfully I’ve hit grown up time, now only my big mouth gets me in trouble…..:D Tanya – Belfast

  • the most embarrassing cup of coffee

    I had met my husband for a cup of coffee on my lunch break. We decided to sit outside because it was such a beautiful day. My husband bought the coffees and I quickly went to the bathroom. This particular coffee house was incredibly long from front to back and the bathrooms were in the […]

  • i want to paint!

    When I was 22 I went on my first foreign mission’s trip to the beautiful land of Brasil. While there we did several things to help in the different communities and with the local churches. We had been there for about 3 weeks and I was impressing everyone with the way I was quickly picking up the language! One day we had the opportunity to go to a local school and do some cleaning up and painting… After we spent the morning cleaning it was lunch time. I was sitting at a table with friends and my “host dad” practicing my Portuguese when I decided to say in perfect Portuguese, I paint. My host dad said very good! So being extremely proud of myself I leaned over to my friend to find out how to say “want” distracted he told me and I said very loudly and with great pride and a huge smile “I want to paint” Silence then the entire room, who was made up of mostly men from the CHURCH began to laugh hysterically… I realized that what I said didn’t come out right, but really why was the PASTOR on the floor laughing with tears streaming down his face? I looked to my Brazilian friend Paulo who’s face was somewhat shocked, trying not to laugh, saying no,no Paula! After several minutes, with no end of the laughing in site Paulo’s fiance, and my dearest friend Greta, pulled me outside and said Paula do you know what you said? Yes… I want to paint! No she responded you just said I want a penis! Shocked and shaking my head no, I said I don’t want a penis, I just want to paint! Needless to say I had other slip ups on that trip and others but that by far has been the most embarrassing one! Paula – TX

  • the bag of hair

    Several months after 9/11 I was in the Atlanta airport. I was “randomly selected” to have my bags extra searched. I guess I looked a little like a terrorist. To add to this luck, the two people assigned to search my bags were women [Insert the obvious stereotypes of women cops here]. My bags were over-stuffed, and the zippers were bulging. I cringed as they took things out of their crammed locations knowing that they would never get it all back in. I thought for sure that I had nothing bad in there, but I didn’t account for culture differences. One lady pulled out my nag champa incense and asked what is was with incredible attitude. I explained that it smelled good, and she confiscated it. She found matches and took them. She found laundry detergent and took it. Our friendship was on the fritz. Then it happened. She pulled out a small ziploc and my heart sunk. It was full of my recently chopped off hair and affectionately labeled “Junior”. She looked at me like I was the filthiest criminal to ever live and with much more attitude and confusion than before she loudly asked, “What is this?” I tried weakly to explain why it was funny to me and my friends. She let me keep it. I didn’t recover my dignity. Micah the Admin

  • mile high club

    I was on a flight headed towards London. The line for the bathroom was consistently long so I was going to wait. Finally, when I could not wait any longer, the seat belt sign came on and the plane started to shake violently. I decided to attempt going anyways because it was either in the bathroom or in my seat. I made it to the bathroom without the flight attendant seeing me but soon learned why they ask you to remain seated during turbulence. The airplane suddonly dropped and my hand hit the door which wasn’t properly latched. I looked up and the woman in the seat nearest the bathroom had a look of shock on her face. I shut the door quickly and finished my crazy ride and sneaking back to my seat got a very awkward glare from the lady. Lesson learned. Amanda – CA

  • rigor mortis

    I was taking a long drive with a few friends. We stopped at a gas station for drinks and bathroom. While we were getting back into the car my friend and I were rough housing. A girl behind us said, “You guys are gonna die!” This girl had just told us the day before that her mother had died through tragic circumstances. My friend replied quickly with an age old joke. “Your mom’s gonna die!” I didn’t see his face. I wish I had. Instead, I tried to top him. I said, “Yeah! She’s already dead, and rigor mortis is setting in!” Immediately I remembered about her mom and saw my friend’s face. He was terrified. I looked away from her as fast as possible, put my headphones on and avoided eye contact with her for the rest of the trip. I felt like a monster, and I still don’t like thinking about it. David – TN

  • who was that jerk?

    I stopped at a gas station with two friends to get some coffee. While we were getting creamer and lids this dirty guy walked in. Both of my friends knew the guy but didn’t bother to introduce me. My jaw dropped as I watched this guy get his coffee. He was loud and laughing about non-interesting stuff. As he poured his coffee it sloshed all over the counter and some on the floor. He didn’t clean it up. He poured cream, it sloshed on the counter. He added sugar, it spilled on the counter and the floor. Then as he took the cup away it spilled a little more. He left in the same loud huff. I was not used to this. When we got into the car the first words out of my mouth were, “Who was that jerk?” My friend, who was driving, turned and said, “That is my brother.” I didn’t even try to recover. Micah the Admin

  • humiliated

    During one year of my life I worked at a restaurant that served very expensive steak and good liquor. One of the waiters I worked with was the best we had and knew it. He was a very tall handsome Arabian man that had the smooth, take control and appear caring way of being arrogant. I was attracted to him. One evening after work a conversation led to him getting the hint that I wouldn’t mind if he kissed me so much. He proceeded to follow me into the fridge and romantically twirl me around and kiss me. And then walked out. Then as we left the building he proceeded to do it again just for a bit longer, and then I stopped him. I was very flattered but also saw how stupid and wrong it was. So I told him never to do that again, I didn’t want to be that kind of girl. He agreed and we moved on, so I thought the issue was taken care of and I didn’t have to worry anymore. Wrong. About two weeks later I was with him and another guy listening to music in his car. I went to my car to get a CD and when I came back the other guy was gone and I was alone with this guy. One thing lead to another and he made advances toward me and I caved… you know, since I thought he was hot and all. So we heavily made out for like an hour. Eventually… at 1:30am… I made up an excuse to leave and left. Now it gets awkward. The next day we worked together he announced to everyone that he was going to be bringing his family to the restaurant that Friday and he wanted a really good waiter/waitress to have their table because he wanted to make a good impression. The next detail is crucial. He was living with a woman and had been for years. I met her a few weeks later and she was really nice and wonderful, but that’s irrelevant. She had two kids and he had two kids from a previous marriage which they were raising together. When both of these incidences happened he had been telling us that they had broken up and he was moving out any day… blah blah blah. Well that Friday night I was working in the back when I was called by my boss to the front and said he had a table for me out on the patio. He said “do your best”, confused at why he said that (also thinking I was not going to be the one chosen to take their table) I walked out and sitting at the table in the center of everything was him with his brother and his wife and then his girlfriend… I froze, I had never actually met her but I knew it was her. I couldn’t talk. I moved to the other side of the table and tried to go through the menu but I was opposite of him and he kept glaring at me with that look of “I know you’re incredibly humiliated, and I love it, and I’m going to keep doing it to you.” When I took his menu he looked at me again with even more evil. It was so awful. I was holding back tears because I so mad at myself for believing him and mad because she had no idea who she was living with. As I went back inside I wiped a few tears, breathed and decided all I could do was finish his table with dignity. But I fumbled everything. I got the wrong drinks, I dropped something, I forgot a salad and I wasn’t as nice as I wanted to be because every word was painful. It was awful service. When it was all said and done he left me a less than usual tip. A few weeks later he had the nerve to correct me on my service skills in front of a trainee. Thankfully, he was fired a few weeks later. Lucy – OK

  • holy nightmare

    Several years ago I went on a trip to The Netherlands with a small group of friends. Towards the end of our stay we decided to check out a very old church from the inside by actually attending a service. I might as well mention here that we were a group of energetic, college-aged Americans. We were late. We were under dressed. We were the only young people in the room. And every head turned as my friends noisily took their seats and tried to figure out what the heck we were all supposed to be doing. Everything was in Dutch. My friends were whispering louder than most people talk and that got us even more dirty looks from the old people. After fumbling to keep up with a few hymns and reading aloud in unison, it looked like we were finally going to get to sit down for awhile. Except that I couldn’t sit, something was wrong with my bench and I had to perpetually kneel on the prayer stool at a weird angle. My friend Rick, who apparently does not have a healthy reverence for the house of God, thought this would be the ideal time to find out exactly how ticklish I was. Let me tell you now that my tickle-tolerance is a below zero. My side and my knee were attacked and I had to bite my lip and draw blood to keep from making an even bigger scene. My whispered pleas and threats were disregarded, and by this time the priest was making eye contact with me. I didn’t know priests were even capable of giving “the look” but this guy certainly was. I don’t know what was worse: the fact that I was making a scene against my will or the fact that none of my friends seemed to think anything was amiss. Now it was time for communion. I shuffled into the line and tried to see ahead and figure out what I was supposed to do. But Dutch people are very tall. And I couldn’t even see past the person in front of me. Too soon I was standing in front of the priest. I only had movies to guide me. I had watched actors hold out their hands to receive the bread, but I’d also watched them open their mouths and receive wafer deposits. I hesitated, and like an idiot opened my hands up AND my mouth. The priest looked at me funny and placed the wafer in my hand. I didn’t even bother with the wine. By this time the priest and I were on track to start dating with the amount of times I attracted his gaze, getting blamed for my friends’ insensitive behavior. The service finally closed but to my great horror the priest stationed himself at the only exit and was shaking hands. The door was not very wide, but I was so mortified by this point and did NOT want to look this guy in the eyes again, so I put my head down and walked as fast I could. So much for sightseeing. Liz the American