*Nothing but Blushes*

I suffer from a terrible disease. Actually, it’s not a disease, but probably more of a mental affliction. I doubt it goes by any one title, but I call it Sympathetic Humiliation.

It strikes me often these days (generally when I’m watching TV). Somebody will do something so gut-wrenchingly embarrassing that I will be forced to leave the room or change the channel. I don’t know why I do it. I suspect it’s because my brain immediately enters Sympathetic Humiliation mode (without any help from me) and poses the question: What if that were you in that situation? And then I begin to blush and dither.

My mother suffers the same thing. She has, however, developed a curious immunity to it regarding the television show “Idols”. She can actually sit there for a good hour or so watching people making utter fools out of themselves, on national television, and not bat an eyelid. I, on the other hand, begin to cringe the moment somebody in a costume (they, never, ever, sing well) walks on stage. Then I can either spend the next three excruciating minutes trying to distract myself or I’ll be forced to leave the room, generally on the pretext of getting a drink.

Occasionally, I’ll be subjected to this feeling even in real life (and no, reality television doesn’t count). I’ll be behind someone who trips extravagantly down the stairs in full view of half a million people, and I’ll be the one blushing for days. Please, don’t make me do an oral presentation of any kind, not because I don’t enjoy them, but there is always the chance that I’ll have to watch someone else make a fool of themselves. For the same reason I avoid people who stutter, because I’ll try and finish the sentences for them, which will embarrass them, which in turn will make me turn red.

Of course, it goes without saying that none of this is as bad as making a fool out of yourself. There are several incidents in my past which I’d much rather forget, because they’re the type of thing that wakes me up at three in the morning and hope fervently that everyone has forgotten.

Like the time I tried to make a dramatic exit from an argument and managed to bounce my shin off twenty different, low-slung objects. Or the time I swore on stage in front of, not only the deputy-principal, but also his wife and their small children. Or the time I managed to completely lose the thread of the argument at a debating competition, in front of delegates from thirty different schools.

And don’t get me started on the ravages of puberty, particularly the agony of a breaking voice. To all of you who are male and below the age of fifteen, here’s a tip: For the next four or five years, don’t say anything. No, really, I mean it. Learn sign language, draw up cue cards, master Morse code, do anything that will prevent you from actually opening your mouth. Because, if you do, you’ll find that the content of your sentences comes a poor second to the various octaves you manage to hit in the course of a conversation.

Unfortunately, there is nothing in the world that one can possibly do without the occasional danger of embarrassment (with the possible exception of being a hermit). In the end, you’ve go to take the rough with the smooth, and just put up with the fact that, every now and then, you’re gonna look like an idiot.

Your Fellow in Redness,

Bontage.

PS: Have you noticed that, should you point out to someone that they’re blushing, they blush even more, REGARDLESS of whether or not they were blushing before hand? Try it out on a stranger and see.

Explore posts in the same categories: My Experiences

Tags: Blushing, Embarrasment, Puberty

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