Dec 6, 2015


     I've written before about stupid questions here on FPS, but back then I didn't touch upon a certain age-old question which lately keeps popping up seemingly everywhere and that's, 'What was the most embarrassing moment of your life?' It may look, sound and feel like a good question to ask someone but it's in fact far from it when you think about it — the thing with embarrassment or shame, as Julie Burchill said, is that it 'is, like beauty, often in the eye of the beholder'. Which means that the questioner, in the hopes of harvesting a juicy story, might end up with a wet-blanket's-of-a-one, because some aren't ashamed to walk around butt-naked (nudists), while a very special breed of people would die of shame if they were seen in public with a skirt revealing their knees (most of them can be found in churches all across the world on any — or better yet every — given Sunday). And what happens if a person is, quite simply and unfussily, shameless? Because let me tell you, those exist — and usually they are the ones who have the best stories, stories so juicy and succulent and moist-laden that there are juices oozing and dripping and squirting basically from every hole. And I should know, I have a perfect example.
     Which goes like this: one of my good friends once claimed that she feels no shame whatsoever and she backed that very audacious, very bold and very cheeky statement with a story. Well, not just A story, but a GOOD story, a good JUICY story even (which I'll, to disappoint you and apologise in advance, sum up far from juicily but rather dryly): once she had sex with her boyfriend in the middle of the woods right next to a hiking trail when out of nowhere — well, not really out of nowhere, they WERE next to a frigging path after all — came a group of scouts. Imagine, you're there, on the ground, naked, all sweaty and panting and tangled with another naked body, when a group of young, wholesome, impressionable, bashful, innocent girls and boys scurries along: you'd be ashamed, right? Well, not if you were my ballsy, shameless friend, you wouldn't. She said she burst out laughing like that would  be (and it indeed was) the most hilarious thing ever. Her boyfriend, quite the contrary, wanted to die of shame. Which made the situation even funnier and her laugh even harder, of course.
     While I can't or can say that I'd be as shameless and carefree in her shoes (or maybe I should say skin??) as her since I've never been there (yet), I can say that the story made me think. What if she, in truth, isn't shameless but merely hasn't been put or hasn't put herself, quite luckily or smartly, in a situation which would made her insides and outsides cringe? Because honestly, I too, as a rule, don't find sex-related stuff embarrassing. I was, for example, called a loud lay by a neighbour of mine — a much older gentleman, whom I never had sex with, mind you — and I couldn't care less. Did I find it amusing? Yes. Reassuring? Sure, no loud sex is boring sex. But embarrassing? Not really. Like I said, sex doesn't rose my cheeks. The talk about it, I mean, the actual deed very much does when done right. And if or when any other people not actively partaking in the activities sense that, I don't wish the earth would open up beneath me and swallow me and my shame, fuck that. So does that make me shameless? Far from it. And to back MY everything but very audacious, very bold or very cheeky statement, I'll tell you about the second most embarrassing moment of my life (at least to date, that is). Why second? The reason why I'm never sharing THE most embarrassing moment of my life with anyone EVER is exactly the argument supporting my claim that asking someone about the most embarrassing moment of their life should go straight and only to the dumb-ass-question bin: because it's too embarrassing to tell! Hence the second one.
     A long long time ago, as in a good 20 years ago, I found myself stuck with a bunch of random girls at a seaside resort for a couple of days, when one day, while spending some one-on-one time with one of them on the beach, I decided to open my mouth and blurt out, "Damn, look at that woman there in that black one-piece! She's a WHALE. I don't get how people that fat even dare to put on a swimsuit and walk out in public in it," and the girl said, "That's my mom."
     Oh, the shame ...
     In my defence, let me just say that I still to this day squirm and wince at the memory of my moronic-little-cunt moment and thank fuck for that, because that's one of the best learning tools for stupid childish fools of all ages out there. I could, though, say that she truly was an unquestionably and health-threateningly obese woman who could use losing a few pounds or that I was, at a very tender and gullible age, surrounded by a posse of mean girls, a few years older than me, whom I one day accidentally overheard talking about how they thought I was so full of myself 'because my hair was so long and so light' and was therefore desperately trying to fit in and show them that I could be just as good at badmouthing others as they were, because I was yet too young to instead come to a conclusion that if words could hurt me, I should be extremely cautious with words I choose to speak about others, but those would be just pointless excuses seemingly washing me (more or less) clean from my guilt and shame which is something I most certainly don't want so I'll just tell it like it is: I was an idiotic little weasel who should have kept her mouth shut, but didn't so I got my hefty dose of embarrassment and learned my lesson. Amen.
     And I guess that's the whole point of shame anyway: to learn to not put yourself in situations which make you lose face, at least that's the lesson I got from it. And thinking about that incident now, that other girl was just as, if not more, embarrassed as I was and appeared actually quite ashamed of her mother so maybe she got the keep-it-cute-or-put-it-on-mute lesson too. Or maybe, in order to counteract her shame, she decided to use that as an excuse to bash and put down other people as a form of defence mechanism, but frankly, I couldn't care less because that would be her loss — I'm holding tight to my shame and my lesson. I just hope I never see the girl again because I would simply die of embarrassment, wishing the earth would open up beneath me and swallow me and my shame.
     So I suppose my point is that one shouldn't be ashamed of being capable of being ashamed, because a little shame can do a person good by keeping in you check. But I'm actually just reinventing the wheel here because there was this one dude named Blaise Pascal who said 'the only shame is to have none'. Sounds a little bit like an oxymoron? Well, if you think that it is, you're definitely in the wrong, while he's righter than right because that's a lot less moronic than you think and a lot more — oxy? I don't know about that, but it sure is smart. And if you can't see that, well then shame, shame, shame on you.


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