Are My Cheeks Red?

I've always been a pretty modest person. Growing up words like n-a-k-e-d and s-e-x made my face turn pink and I would start to giggle uncontrollably. I refused to let my mom tell me about my ever impending doom - puberty - until one day, around 10 or 11 years old, she forced me to sit down on her bed and hear what she had to say whether I liked it or not. I only wanted information on a need-to-know basis and apparently I needed to know. I sat there with my back turned to her as she described what was going to happen. It was the only way I could listen without dying from embarrassment. When my dad walked in mid-conversation I nearly had a cow. Panic welled up inside of me. Oh no! He can't know about these things! Too much! Can't take it.... GET OUT!! Poor Dad. That'll teach him to walk into his own bedroom without knocking.

Thankfully, I have since grown out of that sort of intense embarrassment and as an adult I am able to talk calmly about things that are medically necessary. However, I still get embarrassed easily when it comes to the more personal, non-medical aspects of my life. When my parents came to help us move, my dad unpacked a box of our bathroom items. He was showing me where he put everything, including an extra pregnancy test. My little girl instinct was to run and hide or scream "get out!!" like an insane ten year old, but then I realized... DUH!! He knows you've taken pregnancy tests, you're pregnant!! Apparently I like people to think I've been living as a nun for the past five years. Oh and this baby belly. Immaculate conception. Yep. That's what it is. As a logical adult I understand how ridiculous this is and usually I'm able to tell myself to grow up and I do. Still, I like to think that my private life is exactly that, private. I understand that some people have a looser definition of the word "private" so I'm not bothered by others discussing the intimate details of their lives, but you can stay out of the intimate details of mine, thankyouverymuch.

My version of "privacy" was unfortunately shot to pieces today, when a woman from church came to help unpack some of our boxes. We moved 3-4 weeks ago and because of the bed rest still have a lot of unpacking to do. When she offered to help I was extremely hesitant to let her see the contents of our boxes. I expressed my concern to Husband last night and he claimed that he had already unpacked the items that I might be uncomfortable with so I went ahead and showed her the boxes. Who cares if she see my shoes and jewelry, right? Really, we don't even own anything worth being embarrassed about, right? WRONG!!! If I could go back in time and stop what happened next I would. I think my face is still red.

As I sat on my bed she began to pull items out of the box. With each item I would direct her where to place them. At first it was pretty innocuous. Shoes, more shoes, hats, jewelry boxes... the most embarrassing thing was actually the way the boxes had been packed. Sadly, Husband was in charge of packing and we'll just say he's not the most meticulous packer around. Fortunately this was easily brushed off and we both had a good laugh about men - can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em - Ha. Ha. Ha. Then it happened... "Oh, this bin got turned over, here let me pick up it all up." NOOOOOO! There, in a sea of nail polish and makeup, was a box of expired c-o-n-d-o-m-s. Holy crap! I didn't even realize we still had those!! Why weren't those thrown away??? WHY??? (Because we're both apparently pack rats! That why!!) And here, my nice 65 year old church lady friend was scooping them out of the box. I tried desperately to stop it. I said we could just move on to the next box, but she wasn't having any of it.

As if that wasn't enough humiliation for one morning, what was underneath the bin of embarrassment just made it all worse. Lingerie. Husband packed lingerie in there too. OMG, kill me now. "Well this is pretty, where does it go?" Wide-eyed and shame faced, I manage to squeak out, "top drawer..." One piece after another after another. I sink lower and lower into my bed. Finally she pulls out the piece that just about kills me, a pink lacy garter belt with matching thong. "What is this?" Silence. "I mean, do you wear it on your top?" She holds it up to her own top as if trying to figure it out. She looks to me for answers. I can't take it anymore. My face is red. The giggling has started. Must. Pull. Self. Together. I finally get a grip on my last shred of dignity and with as straight a face as I can manage I tell her what it is. "Oh! Do they still make those?" Umm... "It's not actually functional, per se..." The woman looks amused. "Oh, I see... more of a Victoria's Secret kind of thing." *wink wink* If I could melt into a pool of water and disappear under my bed I would. She continues to unpack, only to pull out some black stockings, "Oh yay! These must go with the garter belt!" At that point all I could do was laugh. Luckily she's not "that kind" of church lady, in fact she's been known to crack a few naughty jokes here and there, but still... privacy! Hello?? Reminder, must kill Husband when he comes home.

Oh the joys of being on bed rest... Needless to say I think I will be forcing Husband to finish the unpacking this weekend before anymore debacles happen with unsuspecting church people.