“So, then I couldn’t find my clothes. I guess my boyfriend took them with him so there I was feeling like an idiot stark naked.”
“Yeah, I guess that does beat my embarrassing story. So what’d you do then?”
“Well, what could I do? I walked up to the girl who I assaulted, apologized and started crying.”
“Yeah, what else could you do?”
“Well, then the girl smirked at me and walked away, leaving there feeling like a complete idiot.
“And that was it? She didn’t want to beat you up? How’d you get home?” I asked.
“No, that wasn’t it. And then the cops came.” she answered.
“Yeah, oh, wow.”
“And they told me to put on my clothes but when I told them my boyfriend stole my clothes, they put a blanket on me and handcuffed me.”
“They take you to jail?”
“The girl I beat up came over and said, ‘She’s crazy but I think she’s sorry enough so I don’t want to press charges besides I got her pretty good too.'”
“Really? That was nice.” I said.
“Well, yeah, she did get me pretty good too.” she said as she showed me a scar on her forehead beneath her bangs. “And she offered me a ride home.”
“Yeah, she lived a few miles up the road toward Santa Barbara on the beach. A nice a place called Summerland. She invited me in and gave me some clothes to wear. She offered me some food and we ate and drank and talked all night and then we became very good friends.”
“Nice. So whatever happened to your boyfriend?”
“Oh, that jerk? Haha…I dumped him and so did the blond he was hitting on at the party but enough of my embarrassing story. Now tell me you most embarrassing story. And it better be better than the last one you told me.”
“No way out of this, huh?”
“No way out.”
“Okay, here goes. I was in the first or the second grade. I don’t remember which and the teacher was mean to us kids. After lunch she made us take a nap. She made us lay our heads on our desks and told us to be quiet for 20 minutes and then she said, “And I don ‘t want any of you to get up for any reason, including going to the bathroom.”
“Yeah? That doesn’t sound so bad. I mean I worked in a grammar school for a while and the kids are never quiet and they’re always getting up and going to the bathroom and fooling around.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t one of those kids. I was a quiet, shy kid people would call bashful. I was practically invisible.”
“Yeah? Alright. Go on.”
“So I had to go to the bathroom real bad and I’m not talking just going number one. I’m talking I had to go number two real bad.”
“So I sat there with my head on the desk trying to hold it with all my might when suddenly it occurred to me that since I had underpants on — you know some of us wear underwear — that I could just poop in my pants and clean it out when I got home.”
“I wish I was kidding.”
“You crapped your pants? In school? In the first or second grade?!”
“Yeah, I crapped my pants but that wasn’t the worst part.”
“It gets worse?”
“So there I am sitting in my dirty pants and feeling pretty conspicuous when the girl sitting next to me said, ‘Eau, what stinks?'”
“Really? This really happened to you? You’re not making this up?”
“Look, let me just finish the story and then you can make me feel worse about it, okay?”
“Yeah, okay, go on.”
“So, it was time to get up and sit on the carpet by the teacher for story time. So I get up and I felt the poop rolling down my pant let and falling out onto my shoe and all over the vinyl floor.”
“You gotta be making this up!”
“I wish I was making it up.”
“And then the teacher looks at me incredulously and says, ‘What’s that?!'”
“I stood there more mortified than I’d ever been in my sweet short life and I answer, ‘Poop poop balls.'”
“This didn’t really happen. You’re making this up.”
“Look, if I was making this up, it would be a lot less mortifying than it was.”
“So what happened next?”
“So the teacher practically screams, ‘Oh, my god! Well, go into the bathroom and clean yourself up!” So I go into the bathroom and I can hear all the other kids whooping and hollering and laughing in disbelief while I’m trying to clean out my underwear and one boy is climbing over the partition and laughing at me and calling me a poop poop ball head” as he laughed hysterically.
I sat there feeling embarrassed all over again and tried to smile at my date.
She sat there for a moment and said nothing until she faintly said, “Well, if that’s a true story, you’re right, that has got to be the most embarrassing moment of your life.”
“It was” I said and then I looked at her and said, “Who’s idea was this to share embarrassing stories anyway?”
“Yours. You must have really wanted to share your poop poop ball story, huh?”
“Not really. I just felt like I promised you I’d tell you mine if you told me yours. So there it is. I told you mine.”
She looked at me intently and I said, “I can tell what you’re thinking.”
“Oh, really? What am I thinking?”
“Well, you’re probably thinking I might be a little too crazy or maybe a little too self-disclosing for you.”
She sat there, quietly drinking her wine, shook her head, chuckled, looked at me and finally said, “Wow, that is a hell of a story.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” I said.
She finished her wine, gave me a kiss on the cheek and said, “It’s a nice night. How bout you and me go to the beach and go for a swim in the ocean? That way I won’t know if you go poop poop in your pants again.”