I have a cold. I am using Kleenex by the box full sneezing, blowing and laughing aloud as I read a humorous book by Liz Curtis Higgs, Help! I'm Laughing and I Can't Get Up. It is a book of stories she collected from people across the U.S. One is about a woman named Deanna. It reminds me of something that happened to me long ago.
Deanna says she was on a first date with an older, refined gentleman who took her to an Italian restaurant. She wore a navy suit and a lovely, light blue, silk blouse with a long flowing tie that forms a bow at the neckline. She tucked her napkin in her lap, fearful of spilling spaghetti sauce. She took small bites and dabbed her mouth frequently. Each time, the gentleman smiled broadly at her. She felt thrilled that he liked her. At the end of the meal she reached for her napkin which had slid down into her lap, and she jerked up one of the tails of her bow. It was covered in red lipstick and marinara sauce.
My children were young. I was taking them to McDonald's. I grabbed my zippered sweatshirt out of the clean laundry and threw it on. While eating our lunch in a very crowded Mickey Ds I sneezed, a great big aaaahccchhhooo which drew a great deal of attention. I felt that wad of kleenex in my pocket and reached for it. Out came a pair of my silk granny panties that unfurled with static electricity like a noisy surrender flag.
Come on, tell me what it is that you can now laugh about, the thing that made you cringe with embarrassment then.