This is a little story about embarrassment, inspired by LadyMaserati's post light night:)
The only time I've ever asked Adam anything related to his relationship was during some FB version of a twitter party he did while he was at the offices of some magazine. It was a while ago, I can't remember the name of it.
Of course, completely in style with 'my life is just a series of events proving that Murphy's Law works like a charm' kind of mojo I have in the cyber world (and elsewhere:), Adam chose to reply to it. My question was "Who's washing the juicer?". His reply was: "We trade off
"
I've identified at least three levels of embarrassment here. At least:
1. My first reaction was: ohmygod! I just got the tense wrong! I got the tense wrong and HE corrected me. Adam corrected me! I was flushed red with embarrassment in seconds. What was I thinking... that he was washing a random juicer in some crappy office kitchen at that moment, giving them a hand while he was waiting for an interview... That he would go: "We have five more minutes? Okay, let me just take my rings off and I'll give this juicer a rinse, ha, ha, you know me, always trying to help! Can't sit still... What is this green stuff, is it cucumber, you should go with kale, kale's a blast..." Dear god... That wasn't me doing the thinking part, for sure. I wanted the Loch Ness monster to come out of the Loch and eat me alive, I wanted a T-Rex to cut me in half; to be kissed by Dementors; to be swallowed by the fires of Mordor... You get the picture.
2. Here comes the second ( this one's good:). When he said 'we trade off', the first thing that came to my mind was sex, pardon my French. And, right on the clock, ding, ding, ding!!!, came a second level of embarrassment for me. Did Adam mean it to be sexy? Was I projecting my slutty nature onto his innocent words, did Adam just out me as a cray, omg, omg, omg... This was going to keep me awake at night, it was going to come back and haunt me for the rest of my stanning phase=life, like all those other little mishaps that come out of nowhere and make me blush in the middle ot totally unrelated situations... Even the fires of Mordor won't cut this. I'm going to have to be drowned like a witch, disintegrated by electricity and THEN thrown into Mordor...
3. Oh yeah, there's a third one: in spite of... not looking like it, I do have a few reasoning cells left in my grey matter, and they were all screaming at me: stop tweeting to him, stop posting, stop writing, this is not good for your mental health... Alas, to no avail. I can't! Why I can't stop is a matter for another little story. I have my reasons, just like Ladymaserati. I just can't stop:) It's... a compelling need. So embarrassment? My best pal. If you can't win them... ignore them:)
at 0:22
