There’s nothing funnier than an embarrassing story--even if
it’s about me—as long as I get to tell it. There’s nothing more humiliating
than finding out that others have been telling embarrassing stories about me
and I’m not there to spin it sufficiently toward funny and away from
devastating. I assume that’s true for most everyone. Sharing past slip-ups and
faux pas are very entertaining and, I think, a very healthy way to keep your
ego in check. It’s like a colon cleanse without the laxatives.
I’ve been a professional “self-embarasser” for years now but
I realized that I could reach new heights as a “child embarrasser” when my daughters were in preschool and
I had volunteered to drive on a field trip. As I loaded my car with my four-year
olds and the three extra ones I had been assigned, I asked the question we
always asked at the beginning of a car ride: “Is everybody buckle-dee-buckled?”
(I think it’s my husband Brent’s homage to Ned Flanders from the Simpsons but
I’m not 100% sure.) My daughters groaned, “Mommmm…” I was aghast. Had I embarrassed them? I knew it
would happen eventually but I assumed it would be at a mall or a slumber party.
Maybe it would be in the school drop-off line as they were getting out of our
minivan and I would yell, “I love you sooo much!” They would be pre-teen, not
preschool. This meant I had years and years of “Mommmm!” groans to look forward to!
The most effective method for embarrassing yourself is to do
it on television. I know this because I’ve done it and have the reruns to prove
it. Four years ago my family was on HGTV’s “House Hunters.” If you know the
show, you know that a realtor takes a family to see three houses and by the end
of the half hour episode they have chosen and signed all the papers for their
new house. My husband took a week off work to tape the episode. This involved
sound and light checks, costume changes, and exterior shots (but no craft
service, unfortunately).
We are a very accommodating couple in most respects, so when
the director said she wanted a shot of me riding through the park on my bike
with my son in the toddler seat I did it. When she requested a shot of Brent
pretending to look at a patient’s chart with his nurse at his office she had
it. When she suggested shooting me planting pansies in a rocky flowerbed near
the trashcans, I was totally cool with that. That’s why we were both completely
invested in the scene that consisted of me calling for Brent’s help while
struggling to stack our nuclear holocaust supply of toilet paper in the closet
of our old house to highlight our need for more storage space. In an
Oscar-worthy performance I cried, “Brent, can you help me?” and he came running
to my side. “That Charmin looks mighty heavy, little lady.” In the
“I-Can’t-Believe-We’re-Gonna-Be-On-TV” environment of that week, we didn’t
question much of anything. We just went along with any idea that came to the
director’s mind. (Is that how Hitler got the Nazis on board? Why would anyone
sign up for that insanity unless they had been meticulously lured into it with
promises of their own cable TV show?)
When our episode aired for the first time, we watched it on
a giant screen in the gym at our church with a bunch of our friends. That will
go down as one of the top ten most embarrassing yet hilarious nights of my
life. It was a like a car accident—I wanted to close my eyes but I just
couldn’t look away. We had spent hours and hours taping what would be about 22
minutes of footage (after taking out the commercials). If you subtract every
sixty-second update of the riveting storyline after the commercial breaks, then
it would be more like fifteen minutes. So much had been edited out and some of
the parts they did use—like the toilet paper scene—I barely remembered. Not to
mention the things that happened off camera, like the time that I put
pantiliners inside my shirt so that I wouldn’t have sweaty armpits. Somehow one
of the pantiliners slipped out and made its way to the bottom of the sound
guy’s shoe. I noticed it just as they were releasing Brent and I to leave so
that the crew could stay and shoot some B-roll. I was in the van with the
engine running before Brent knew what had happened. Gland control of a woman in
her thirties was not something I wanted to explain to the twenty-something
sound guy who had just worked on an episode of MTV Cribs before coming to shoot
our show.
Once again, I am laughing until I am crying reading this account! Thanks for being such a great story teller! And, for sharing your embarrassment for the sake of our amusement!
ReplyDeleteI agree with MS; you are a great communicator, a wonderful Mother, awesome wife and pretty darn good playwright! Keep it up and may God continue to bless and keep you and your family! You guys are special!
ReplyDeleteAbby you crack me up!!! I think your next book should be a real life comedy. You could be our generation's Erma Bombeck!
ReplyDeleteMrs.Abby you just made me laugh out loud! I remember my mom getting the phone call from you about being on House Hunters. I was sooo excited, since it was my favorite show. You are a hilarious story teller!
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