My most embarrassing moment to date.
You'll know where this is going as soon as I begin, but I'll walk you through the horribly dreadfully embarrassing details step by step.
Sunday. August 9, 2009. A scorcher of a day outside, and without a/c in the house the temperatures inside were registering 29 degrees Celsius. And that was on the main floor; the third floor noticeably hotter.
After giving doodlebugz a bath and brushing her out in the yard, I decided to have a shower. A nice, cool, refreshing shower. Walking past the laundry room on my way through the house I undressed and sorted my clothes with the rest of the laundry to be done. Walking to the top of the basement stairs I could see the front door was open and hollered down to hubby to please come up and close the door - joking that I didn't think the neighbours were ready to see me in all my glory, wearing nothing but my crocs.
I guess I could blame this on my husband. Had he come up right away when I asked, I wouldn't have had the time to think of the vacuuming. The stairs and the third floor hallway were yet to be done and so I decided that I would vacuum my way up to the bathroom for my shower and that way I wouldn't have to get all sweaty again after the anticipated nice, cool, refreshing shower.
I didn't even hear the door. Holding the canister with one hand and using the hand tool with the other, I was bent right over and about half way up the stairs. Now, you have to understand the layout of my house to really understand the severity of the situation. When you walk in my front door, the stairs leading to the third floor are immediately to your left and you have a clear view right to the landing.
Anyways, I didn't hear the door. I did however, feel the slightest hint of cool-ish breeze gently kiss my behind. Excited about where this breezy relief had just come from, I stood and turned towards the front door.
Just in time to see my daughter and her now damaged-for-life boyfriend walk in the house.
Angrily, I screamed a pitch much higher than I thought possible as I curled - or should I say, tried to curl - into the smallest ball possible while using the hose of the vacuum as a shield. As George turned to shove her boyfriend out the door, he was repeatedly screaming "Oh God, I'm sorry ...."
No. I'm sorry George. I'm sorry Nyck.
Family dinners will just never be the same. In response to your question, "who vacuums in the nude anyways?" Obviously someone who thinks it's safe to do so in the comfort and safety of her own home.
Someone who now also has to decide if the boyfriend must marry the daughter, or never see her again.
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