That Day I Caught Myself Blushing In The Mirror
My oh my, how things do change!
When I was in my 20s, I prided myself on rarely blushing. I co-owned a restaurant and worked in the kitchen, and swearing and innuendos (or turns of phrase nowhere near as subtle as innuendos) were just par for the course. I always told the guys I worked and partied with that they couldn’t make me blush.
So, of course, they’d fall over themselves trying.
There was one guy, we’ll call him Jacob (who was, at the time, a housemate of my now-husband). Jacob was the exception to the rule and was frequently successful where so many others had failed.
He’d just grin at me and say something so perverse that he knew even my jaded ears couldn’t help but turn beet red.
And then he’d smile and nod and go about his day.
Lest you think that any of this bothered me, or that I was trying too hard, or that the lady doth protest too much — I loved it. The whole thing was an absolute riot.
As I approached the ripe old age of 30, I left the restaurant industry and the town of my youth, heading for the big city, where I joined the teeming hordes of office workers who were selling their souls to Corporate America.
