The Embarrassment Files Earthdate 2017.53
As an American living in Britain, I have wonderful opportunities to embarrass people. I don’t include myself in this because I don’t embarrass easily (an advantage and necessity of being from the United States), and British people, especially in the south of the country are readily embarrassed. Easy pickings, really.
This was even in my wedding vows to an unsuspecting Brit, ‘To honour, love, and embarrass’. OK, not really. Although I did walk down the aisle to the theme song from Mission Impossible. Truth.
I’m an inveterate dog person. I’m way too lazy to actually own one, so I just stop everybody who has theirs out and about, and ask if I can ‘say hi’ to it. The vast majority, I’d say over 98% of dog owners and walkers, are amenable and friendly. One day, early on in my life in old Blighty, we were walking through a charming old English small city of St Albans on their traditional market day. This means stalls galore on the main shopping street and throngs of people. A woman and her friend were walking an irresistible Jack Russell. The woman was happy for me to make a fuss over the dog, which I did and he enjoyed.
“He’s a spunky little guy, isn’t he?” I offered. The woman and her friend looked confused. My husband stood silent, looked like he might be beseeching me to do something, But what?
“Sure is a spunky little fellow! Don’t you think?” I thought maybe it was my accent. You’d be surprised how often people can’t understand it. At this point my husband tugged me away. The two women nodded like spring-necked toy dogs on the back shelf of a car.
“Sara, that means ejaculate, over here!” I got in a loud whisper.
And this was just the start.