This should be my most embarrassing moment. I don't know why I'm not really ashamed to tell this story (because I should be):
When my husband and I were first married we lived in the scariest of dumpylands in the entire world. Ok, maybe not the entire world - but it was BAD.
It was an old 50's hotel that was converted into apartments in the 70's and then had NEVER been updated since. We were lucky because there were two of us so we got a room with a kitchenette (complete with a couple of isolated burners we could plug in if we desired to cook and a toaster oven that I managed to light on fire only a couple of times.)
Downstairs from this apartment was a sad little Chinese restaurant that NOBODY ever ate in (except us a couple of times) and a really rough looking bar. Thank goodness we lived on the 5th floor since it wasn't uncommon for bar fights to break out and turn ugly.
The other thing about this apartment was that it had a laundry room with only ONE washer and dryer. For 5 floors of apartments. But since it was either that or the laundromat, I just dealt with the sharing.
It was our first Valentine's Day and my husband had to work. He had left a trail of candies from our front door to the bathtub where he had gotten me some bath salts or something good smelling. I was too focused on the yummy chocolate and peanut butter heart candy to notice much of anything else. Plus, the bathtub in that apartment was disgusting enough to stand in, let alone bathe in.
I gathered up what I thought was all of the candies before I headed downstairs with a load of laundry. And LUCKY LUCKY no one had stuff in the washer. This was shaping up to be a rather great evening.
As the laundry was washing I sat on our bed (the couch was grotesque and un-sit-able) watching Powerpuff Girls or TLC's "Maternity Ward" or something. Those were my favorite shows back then, so I'm assuming it was one or the other. Maybe they had a special "Pain Killer Free Maternity Ward" to discourage any unprotected Valentine love making. Because I'm thinking that would definitely scare me out of having sex.
This is where it gets embarrassingly humorous.
The load of laundry needed thrown into the dryer. I had been lounging around in some scrubs and a sweatshirt so I didn't feel like running into anyone. Until I remembered that the building was mostly inhabited by the mentally ill or completely impoverished that probably envied my hole-less scrub bottoms. So I didn't really care so much when a lady came into the laundry room needing to use the washer.
The lady, let's call her "Shandra" just for fun (and because I really don't know her name), sat on the chair across from the washer and dryer while I unloaded my things.
And you know how you have to bend over to put stuff in the dryer? Yeah, Shandra watched the whole bending show with a smirk and some giggles. It was like she couldn't take her eyes off of my butt.
It was back when my butt wasn't so big, and I really didn't get what was funny. Going through my head was, "Remember, mentally ill people live here....it's probably nothing....she keeps giggling...HURRY HURRRY!!!" And then I slammed the dryer closed and ran away.
When I got back up to my apartment it was then that I realized my husband had also put candies on our bed. That had blended into the blanket. That I hadn't noticed AT ALL. THAT I HAD SAT ON FOR 40 MINUTES.
The damage was minimal. Just one completely melted chocolate and peanut butter heart perfectly positioned on the butt of my hole-less scrub bottoms.
Shandra wasn't mentally ill - while I was bending over to put all my stuff in the dryer she was looking at what would have appeared to be smeared poop on my rumpus.
If you liked reading about what is obviously my FINEST MOMENT IN HISTORY. Then go vote for me at blockthoughts. THANK YOU.