This is a true story. I exaggerate nothing.
It really happened and things like this only seem to happen to me and sometimes to my wife. We share a knack for embarrassing ourselves.
We lived overseas for a time, in South America and the Middle East. The possibilities for embarrassment and misunderstanding were endless.
This particular event occurred in Bogota, Colombia. All that hooey about Colombia being dangerous is not all true. Sure, if you are a gringo dressed in an Armani suit, drunk and flashing cash, you might be targeted by some enterprising locals. No seas una papaya! Don’t be a papaya, that is: don’t be low hanging fruit. Colombia is beautiful and so are Colombians. They are fun, happy and enjoy a good laugh. But they do NOT have a scatological sense of humor.
Certain noises and images are not thought to be funny, especially in mixed company. Once, while my wife and I were touring an apartment, I complimented the upper-class female owner and her daughter on the fine bathroom. “Leeré mucho en ese baño.” I will read a lot in that bathroom.
Grillos….crickets. They looked at me like I just spit wad of Redman on the floor.
That said, here goes.
I had to dress a bit better than I do now while in Colombia. Colombians like to dress well and respect people who also dress for success. Nice trousers, shirt, tie, maybe a vest … and shined shoes. Shined shoes.
One day we had a particularly important meeting. This meeting was in a gallery style room with theater seating and was full of technical professionals. I found myself in between two attractive young ladies from my team, both well dressed and both, I suppose, respected me. Marina on my left and Jenny on my right (fake names).
All the lights went out as they began the very serious PowerPoint show, projected on large screens 5 meters away. All was quiet but the speaker.
Dutifully, I had my new iPhone on my knee. A family man had to be on his toes. This was a foreign country after all. The wife could text anytime with some sort of crisis: Where is that little bakery? How do I say, “I want sprinkles?” What is the exchange rate again?
Seriously, though, communication is important. Bad things have happened to expats including kidnapping.
So there I sat, concentrating, pretty women on my right and left when that iPhone buzzed, and buzzed hard.
A text from the wife! Oh, no, trouble! She never texts unless there is trouble.
My heart was racing as I lifted the device off my knee and the screen went from black to a brilliant photo that filled the frame.
Of course Marina and Jenny had no choice but to see the glowing photo only two feet away.
“Oh my God!” Marina barked in English. Jenny sucked in a loud gasp.
My jaw fell. I could not lower the phone: I was paralyzed as my mouth went dry. I couldn’t swallow. How do I explain this? How do I explain to these ladies, and likely the people sitting behind us, that this was indeed my underwear. MINE, yes, but, but… I CAN EXPLAIN!
Underneath, the wife wrote:
What the HELL is this?
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I needed a soft rag to shine my shoes that morning. Remember in, On Loving Small Things, I said ill-fitting underwear would not be worn? These were such a pair. Unfortunately for me, the brown shoe polish was applied to the worst possible part of the Jockey briefs. I left them on the closet floor. Wife found them and much mirth was made.
Hardy-har-har! You're a pip, wife, a real pip.
One of these days…
Oh dear, that is hilarious. But awful. But also hilarious.