isn’t it funny what makes all of us blush – and how we deal with it.
Embarrassing situations are just a part of life but when they crop up that really isn’t much of a comfort.
Take as an example something which happened to me last week.
Having held the door open for a few colleagues, a third chap stopped on his way through assuming I was waiting to have a chat.
The truth was I was actually stuck behind the door, unable to go anywhere until he moved.
Just how long is it polite to let somebody go through the motions of small talk before you let them know you’re only still there because you’re trapped?
Things really weren’t made much easier by the fact the door in question was the only way in and out of a narrow corridor in the bowels of Fleetwood Town’s Highbury ground and the, affable enough, gentleman doing his best to share a joke was manager Micky Mellon.
Thankfully he had better places to be and disappeared before I had to reveal my predicament, but it did leave me a touch on the flustered side – the kind of flustered you get when you’ve waved at a car because you think you know the driver and only realise, when it’s too late, it’s actually a complete stranger.
Somebody I know admitted recently doing this in a supermarket car park, just as the driver pulled into the neighbouring space.
In a moment of wonderful, not wanting to cause a fuss, Britishness, both motorists traded pleasantries before heading off their own separate ways without the foggiest idea who had just asked how the family was.
Complete denial and carry on regardless are just two ways to deal with those red faced moments.
Sadly, I don’t think we always manage to stay quite so cool.
My particular method of dealing with an embarrassing moment involves talking very loudly and in a very purposeful manner before trying to change the subject – in the hope nobody noticed whatever cringe worthy thing I just did.
Sadly I do this even if I’m on my own, resulting in alarming moments, I’m sure, for those around me.
I can only wonder what drivers are thinking when they see the short, fat, scruffy man start to wave, stop and then begin talking enthusiastically to himself whilst trying to keep eye contact only with the pavement.
If only we could be more like our children – who find it very hard to feel any sort of shame.
No hang ups, no red faces, no attempts to hide moments of sheer stupidity.
I know it’s never going to happen.
That’s why, from now on, I’m not waving at anyone in a car and, in narrow corridors, staying well clear of the doors.
That way, I might just manage, for a few weeks, to spare my own blushes.