The reason is a post I wrote this week for Ready for Ten about the funny things parents do – me particularly. I talked about the time I inadvertently gave Boy One’s class mates a sex education lesson and the time I completely got his teacher’s identity wrong.
What I had in mind was a revelatory post about other embarrassing things. I had the fanciful notion that it would give you a laugh, maybe encourage a bit of bean-spilling and might be an all-round hoot.
Then I started to think about what I’d put in to the post.
First I thought about the time I’d ended up doing the walk of shame along a marina pontoon in the Caribbean whilst my limbs and face were painted a fetching shade of emerald green – it was the morning of March 18.
Then there was the time I vomited off the back of a yacht in the middle of a crowded marina surrounded by boats all full of crew getting ready for a yacht race. Seasickness wasn’t to blame.
Or perhaps the – oh, this one’s hard – time when I was sat on a lavatory, again on a boat, thinking I had the chance for an *ahem* quiet moment’s contemplation. Only I hadn’t banked on the rest of the crew suddenly wanting to do a sail change and the cludgee upon which I sat was also in what passed for a sail locker. Don’t let anyone tell you yacht racing is glamorous – being caught mid-poo while six or seven crewmates change a sail around you isn’t nice.
How about the evening in Las Palmas when I was the butt of a Spanish joke? The bar staff refused to understand that I wanted costillas until, in my frustration, I had pointed at my own… handily positioned under my bosom. Grrr.
Maybe the day I was so heavily pregnant I just couldn’t get into my car and had to phone my non-pregnant and skinny friend to reverse my car out of its perfectly normal parking space?
So you see there was just too much to choose from, so I decided not to bother.
Is it me, or is it hot in here?