A story
Because there's been nothing all that interesting on my blog for some time (except for the Yucatan chicken fingers post, of course), and because I have no current humorous stories to tell, I thought I'd share a story from my younger days. And by younger days, I mean when I was a scrappy and youthful 21-year-old.
Shortly after turning 21, I studied abroad for a quarter over in beautiful Edinburgh, Scotland. I had a fantastic time meeting new people, learning new things, seeing new places and more. I also spent a fair amount of time seeing every single pub Edinburgh has to offer. Needless to say, with my lightweight self, I ended up intoxicated more than once.
This story takes place one evening after several hours of pub exploration (aka, drinking). I was walking back to my flat with my roommies. All of us were a tad tipsy. I ended up lagging behind just a tad to swear at my socks because they kept sliding down into my shoes. If this has ever happened to you, you know how irritating it is. When you're drunk, it becomes even more irritating because your socks turn into living beings and therefore are holding a personal grudge against you. So you're wanting to know why they're bothering you and then you become annoyed that they won't answer no matter how many times you yank them back up around your ankles. And thus, I ended up using some colorful phrases to let those things know how angry they were making me.
One of my roommies walked back to join me and usher me along. At this point, with an inebriated person's normal attention span of .05 seconds, I forgot about my socks and noticed a giant billboard on the top of a nearby building. It was for the invention of the times: The Wonderbra. I scoffed and pointed to the sign for my roommate. Looking at the sign, I yelled,
"Wonderbra - yeah, I WONDER if they're real!"
Before getting a chance to start giggling uncontrollably at my oh-so-humorous quip, I looked in front of me. Standing there were two women, one of whom looked very angry. I think it might have been because she was, um, well-endowed in the chestral region and thought I had just yelled the aforementioned phrase at her - especially the latter part.
Naturally, I froze right there - no movement or talking. I don't know if my alcohol-soaked mind flashed back to the movie Jurassic Park and became confused, wondering if it was a tyrannosaurus or a human that would be unable to locate me if I did not move. My roommie took the same position - no movement. We were frozen in time before a dinosaur, hoping to not get eaten.
After what seemed like an eternity, the woman huffed and kept walking, and it was only then that I was able to sputter out, "Um, honestly, I was pointing at that billboard and not you...aoifghsoivhowirvh" I mumbled and trailed off. She didn't look back.
That's probably a good thing, as I'm sure I'd already moved back to the battle with my socks. I do know that my roommies wouldn't let me lag behind after that escapade.
Because there's been nothing all that interesting on my blog for some time (except for the Yucatan chicken fingers post, of course), and because I have no current humorous stories to tell, I thought I'd share a story from my younger days. And by younger days, I mean when I was a scrappy and youthful 21-year-old.
Shortly after turning 21, I studied abroad for a quarter over in beautiful Edinburgh, Scotland. I had a fantastic time meeting new people, learning new things, seeing new places and more. I also spent a fair amount of time seeing every single pub Edinburgh has to offer. Needless to say, with my lightweight self, I ended up intoxicated more than once.
This story takes place one evening after several hours of pub exploration (aka, drinking). I was walking back to my flat with my roommies. All of us were a tad tipsy. I ended up lagging behind just a tad to swear at my socks because they kept sliding down into my shoes. If this has ever happened to you, you know how irritating it is. When you're drunk, it becomes even more irritating because your socks turn into living beings and therefore are holding a personal grudge against you. So you're wanting to know why they're bothering you and then you become annoyed that they won't answer no matter how many times you yank them back up around your ankles. And thus, I ended up using some colorful phrases to let those things know how angry they were making me.
One of my roommies walked back to join me and usher me along. At this point, with an inebriated person's normal attention span of .05 seconds, I forgot about my socks and noticed a giant billboard on the top of a nearby building. It was for the invention of the times: The Wonderbra. I scoffed and pointed to the sign for my roommate. Looking at the sign, I yelled,
"Wonderbra - yeah, I WONDER if they're real!"
Before getting a chance to start giggling uncontrollably at my oh-so-humorous quip, I looked in front of me. Standing there were two women, one of whom looked very angry. I think it might have been because she was, um, well-endowed in the chestral region and thought I had just yelled the aforementioned phrase at her - especially the latter part.
Naturally, I froze right there - no movement or talking. I don't know if my alcohol-soaked mind flashed back to the movie Jurassic Park and became confused, wondering if it was a tyrannosaurus or a human that would be unable to locate me if I did not move. My roommie took the same position - no movement. We were frozen in time before a dinosaur, hoping to not get eaten.
After what seemed like an eternity, the woman huffed and kept walking, and it was only then that I was able to sputter out, "Um, honestly, I was pointing at that billboard and not you...aoifghsoivhowirvh" I mumbled and trailed off. She didn't look back.
That's probably a good thing, as I'm sure I'd already moved back to the battle with my socks. I do know that my roommies wouldn't let me lag behind after that escapade.
posted by H at
10:34 AM
3 Comments:
haha! Tell the one about how your Doc Martens hated you in London too.
Hmm, although yours is more embarrassing, it's somewhat like the time that a friend was demonstrating to me the only Spanish phrase that she knew-- which meant "the devil is on fire in my pants." Unfortunately, she shouted it, and the lady in front of us thought that she was the cause of the heat in my pal's nether parts.
guantana-heather, i love your amusing & self-deprecating personal anecdotes!
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