Most Embarrassing Moments

Most Embarrassing Moments

We all have embarrassing moments. Some of us more than others. I’ve just compiled a list of my most embarrassing moments and I’m up to number 197 – and that’s not bad for one week! I’d like to tell you about my embarrassing moment number 197: it would definitely feature in any Television ‘The Top 50 Most Embarrassing Things Bob Has Ever Done’ compilation.

I try to keep fit, in a lazy, stop, start sort of way, and drive nimbly to the fitness centre, one mile away whenever the guilt overwhelms me. This tends to be about once a week, or sometime less. I cane a selection of machines, run and row, committing my stomach to an hour of humiliating and very public wobbling, and then drive home, sweaty and not nice to be near for a luxurious soak in my own comfortable bath. After this I fall asleep, utterly exhausted for the rest of the day. For the remainder of the week I can live righteously on the experience, and bore all my friends, family and work colleagues as I relate how I achieved nine pull-ups with just the one break for a drink and a posing session at the cold-water fountain. Then cap this by boasting of out-sprinting a lady on the adjacent running machine while she was engrossed, discussing her fitness programme with a rather too young, over-muscled and square jawed I thought, physical trainer.

On the morning of my 197^th I was in a rush. I squeezed on my Lycra sportswear and an odd pair of socks and grabbed a towel from the laundry basket heaped with the family’s fresh-dried clothing, then I jogged through my front door to the car.  I parked outside the leisure centre, wrapped my towel up into a neat roll, and then strode through the entrance to pay. At that moment, from the corner of my eye,  I noticed something dangling from my towel. I looked down. I was agape. It was a pair of sexy pink panties.

There it is then, my 197^th most embarrassing moment. You cannot explain away something like that; you would only dig yourself further into the hole you had prepared earlier. So I said nothing, turned about, strode back to my car, opened the door, glanced around the car park to make sure that I wasn’t being observed - and removed my panties. 

When I said that I removed my panties, I’m sure you know what I mean. Subsequently I concealed the panties under my AA road atlas on the back seat, making a mental note to return them to the laundry basket immediately to avoid further complications, and then went back to commence my work out.  This you will agree was very embarrassing moment. To think that just a few days earlier, I had walked the mile to town wearing a pair of combat trousers from the said laundry basket with a pair of women's tights swinging from side to side stuck by the Velcro on my back pocket. (That was my embarrassing moment number 196 by the way.)