Holy Nutsack, Batman!

It's hard to pick a "most" embarrassing moment out of all the many embarrassing moments that happen over a lifetime. I had it narrowed down to two in particular: the one where I got saran wrapped to the flagpole when I was a wee freshman in high school, and this one. This one won out because I was embarrassed for the both of us.

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I was married in Lake Tahoe. I don't live anywhere near Lake Tahoe, but it had a few things going for it that made the trip beyond worthwhile: it was absolutely one of the most beautiful places I've ever had the pleasure of visiting, I didn't have to deal with houseguests, and the resort people planned my entire wedding for me- all I had to do was pick out the flavour of the cake, the colour of my bouquet, and then show up at the appointed time. The last perk was the most important one to me; I'd decided to get married after all, but I damn sure wasn't going to go through the stress and hassle of planning the wedding.

The downside to elopement wasn't obvious to me at first. I'd never been married and I had NO idea what to do, and there was to be no rehearsal. You'd think simply walking down a narrow aisle would be easy enough, right? No cause for anxiety? What if I came in before I was supposed to? What if I came in late? What if I stood on the wrong side?? A lot can go wrong in twenty nine steps.

But we did have the next best thing: an appointment with the minister, and he was going to give us the play book. So we went downstairs to the lobby of our resort to meet with Reverend McIntyre the day before the wedding. I liked him immediately! He was friendly, he had that ministerly look about him (without being stuffy) and he was willing to try to make our wedding whatever we wanted it to be.

We took our seats opposite him to tell him what we did and didn't want in our ceremony. I was in the middle of trying to explain to him (without offending him) that we weren't religious people and we wanted as un-religious a ceremony as we could possibly get away with, when something on his pants caught my eye. Before I could stop myself, I glanced down to see what it was, and immediately wished I hadn't. There, right at his crotch, was a split seam maybe an inch in length, and some pink was showing through.

I felt my cheeks flame bright red with sudden blush. I was thinking it was kind of funny for a minister to be wearing pinkish underwear, when the truth of the whole business hit me like a wrecking ball: it wasn't pinkish underwear at all. I was being peeked at by Holy Scrotum. I remember blinking a couple of times, thinking I must be mistaken. I was not mistaken.

"How can he not FEEL that?!" I demanded silently, "It's COLD in here!"

My husband noticed I wasn't paying attention and knew something was wrong, because I'd just been fretting about not knowing what to do when the time came to do it. I could hear him making decisions, but I just couldn't make myself pay attention. He elbowed me in the ribs a few times, and I tried to marshal my errant focus and raise my eye back up to Rev. McIntyre's face, feeling all the while that this must be how a guy feels when he's assaulted by perfect cleavage.

The next thing I knew, we were on our feet and Reverend was shaking our hands to take his leave. He wished us luck for the morrow and left, and I stood there gaping like a complete retard, unable to utter anything coherent at all. As soon as he'd gone, Jim turned to me and demanded to know what THAT was all about. I told him. I couldn't believe he missed it!

"Well, *I* don't go around checking out ministers' packages, babe," he retorted.


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This was my entry for Mrs. C's blogging challenge, topic 2: Most Embarrassing Moment