Well, I have an embarrassing story to tell. As usual.
So living in Indianapolis, and especially close to the Indy 500 track, means one thing on race days (like yesterday) - you are either staying home the entire day (because you will be caught in race traffic), or you are going to the race.
So, as the All State 400 crowd made its way to my side of town (presumably from every Walmart and Monster Truck Rally around the Midwest) I settled into what I was expecting to be a quiet Sunday at home filled with watching DVD’ed movies, eating foods that are contributing to my overall weight gain, and doing laundry that had been piled up for a week or so.
Well, if you know me, or if you have been reading this “Dame’s a Dork” series, you know how much I like time by myself. Mr. Aufschneider was headed - with one of his best friends, who I shall refer to as Smith - to see Jimmy Johnson sort-of win another race, so I had several hours of “me” time.
One of the joys of being at home and having several hours to commit to doing laundry is that I get to catch up on all those clothes in a bin above my dryer labeled “Hand Wash Only.” (Yes, I have labeled bins. I am a neat freak…this is for another post). So, I happily Woollighted my “For Mr. Aufschneider’s Eyes Only” garments while watching Jim Carey overact in “Bruce Almighty,” and then hung them up to dry on my shower rod. I should also point out here that I never once put on “street clothes” all day (my tank top and rubber-ducky pants never left my body.)
At six o’clock sharp, I heard the sound of Mr. Aufschneider’s key entering the lock of our front door to our one bed/one bath apartment. When he cracked the door and asked the question “are you decent?”, my stomach turned. I knew right then that “Smith” had asked to come in and use our bathroom. The same bathroom that had four or five various “secrets from Victoria” displayed proudly. What could I say? What should I do? So, I said, “no…I’m in my pajamas, let me go to the bedroom.”…sighhhh
Since our bedroom is feet from the bathroom, I could hear almost everything: Smith walked toward the bathroom. He stopped short at the door, seeing my unmentionables hanging in plain view. He uncontrollably uttered, “OH.” He went in and shut the door. Few minutes of silence when I assume he is taking care of his personal business, while MY business is displayed as if in a museum. He left and said goodbye to Mr. A quickly and then left our apartment.
I then emerged to tell Mr. A what was in the bathroom and how I couldn’t believe that he didn’t call first and give me some notice that we were going to be having “company.” He, of course, didn’t get it, and doesn’t see the big deal. I am pleading with you commenters to take my side here. Embarrassing? Or overreacting?
a little of both. I would’ve probably been embarrassed for a moment, then be over it. Figure, he’s probably seen a woman in those items before and if nothing else you probably made his day a little better. do know, there was probably some sort of visuals he had though and next time you see him he you’ll be thinking of that
Look at it this way…He could be jealous that HIS Mrs. Smith doesn’t have certain secrets from Victoria.
Not embarrassing. Let him be jealous.
Totally not embarrassing. If it had been me, I would have led him straight to the bathroom and said, “BEHOLD: Evidence that Mr. Mock gets laid on a regular basis. Feel free to tell all of his friends.”
Olivia is right - Smith is totally jealous.
Watch his eyes next time you see him. He will be picturing you in them.
Mockarena and Olivia are absolutely right on! Bask in the knowledge that you are the unattainable woman of his dreams! Let him envy Mr. A. Let him lie alone in his bed and wish-wish-wish with all his heart that you would wear just one of those special garments just for him!
I guess I’m the odd one out here because I would have been totally embarrassed. I have actually done this same shower rod drying technique and my brother-in-law saw my secrets from Victoria. Talk about mortified.
Thank you amanda. I am so mortified that you all think that I in some way am PLEASED to have had this man see these garments. And, despite the fantasies that you all have described here, the next time I see this bloke of my husband’s, he and I will both look down and honestly…might never have eye contact again. My plan is to pretend as if this whole exchange never happened.
I completely agree with you, Dame. My husband, unfortunately, is notorious for bringing home “guests” (i.e. drunk work buddies) without warning and has yet to understand why it angers me.