PO'd at my Red Letter Day

Did you ever have one of those days were you wished you had about as much brain activity as a plant? That way you wouldn’t have to relive and re-think about the times in which you can be as dense as apiece of lumber – not the sharpest pencil in the box.
You know, your standing there relieving your bladder, oblivious to the world, just doing your business, pissing into the wind – but it’s not the wet trousers that tell you that you’ve made an error in judgment or even the wind in your face – no, it’s not until you suddenly feel that the socks inside your shoes are wet. You look down to see your wet trousers, while squishing around in your soaking boots and socks. Then just to add to the embarrassment, you look to your left and see a group of nuns blushing in your direction but quickly trying to get out sight.
Yes, today was such a Red Letter Day for me.

So now, I can spend a bunch of time and money on psychology trying to figure out how my brain simply shut off and what happened with those lost moments. I mean this wasn’t just a simple brain-fart; this was a brain shite my drawers full. It was as though I was caught in a bubble of time, were I had no control of my actions until, like a good smack in the face, I suddenly snapped out of it to become aware of my situation. I just cannot understand it.
I’d like to explain it all away by saying that during that little apex in the space-time continuum, aliens abducted me, performed some strange experiment that made me piss myself and then placed me back in time just a few minutes later, completely oblivious as to what had happened. Sadly, that sounds about as suitable to me as this guy (picture below) telling me that, “It’s okay sir, I’m showering under a ‘scared cow’”. Sure buddy then why not use shite-on-a-rope for soap.

I remember some 33 years ago, as a boy of 17, my first trip to Paris. I rushed to my room to relieve myself of the long car drive down from Amsterdam. I stood there pissing into the porcelain bowl only to be astonished that the toilet had both hot and cold-water faucets on it, and there to the left was another toilet standing next to this one. As I stood there, I thought to myself, these French sure are a civilized lot. Just then, my travel companion came into the room with the rest of our baggage and I asked, “Why do the toilets have faucets?” On seeing me, he split his gut laughing hysterically at the sight of me standing there, letting it all hang out, like a little bronze sculpture in Brussels. It seems that the French most assuredly are a civilized lot and I was one heck of a country bumpkin. It seems I was not in fact pissing into the toilet but rather the bidet. Later that night, at the Moulin Rouge I was in desperate need of a toilet. I followed the signs arrived in the room, opened a stall but not a throne to be seen. Every stall had what I thought was a urinal in it. I went back upstairs to ask again and was directed to the same location. I went back down only this time I brought my friend with me. Yet again, I made his day and must have reinforced to him that all North Americans are philistines at best or hayseeds at worst. It seems that the two raised footprints, facing outwards from the wall, with the chromed handles next to them on the stalls wall were the toilet. Laughingly, he instructed me how to grab the handles stand on the footprints, squat and plop into the hole. Yuk and I thought they were civilized – jeez, in Canada we only do this in the bush not in the downtown of Paris. Oh well this story is a little more innocent on my youthful and naïve re-introduction to Europe – innocent like the image below.

So now on top of this red-letter day I can spend the rest of my life trying to figure out how I could be so damn stupid. Are there drugs for this because I’d really like to forget? Man, oh man – do I have a splitting headache.

No, I’m not telling you what it was I did, suffice it to say I’m totally humiliated and besides mom, I don’t want you to know.