Digging Deep Into Embarassment.

"What embarrassing things have you done?"

And good morning to you! "Embarrassing?"

Yeah I know what the word means, but I don't tend to offer that information freely. The going rate for "embarrassing" is thee billy goats, or two small children, well roasted to golden brown perfection, with a tangy gingerbread house glaze.

"Yeah, you know," cuz the Pirate Queen isn't a quitter, "stuff you wouldn't tell me, except you will because I'm asking you, in preparation for our trip." Somehow I follow her knotty logic. I know what she's saying. Still, she wants to be sure I do. She has examples and diagrams. "You know, like nose hair grooming, stuff like that."

Nose hair grooming? I didn't know that was embarrassing. I mean while I'm on the phone with the Pirate Queen, I'm standing in the cosmetics aisle of my local target with a mirror and a pair of tweezers I've picked up off the shelf buried to the wishbone in the left nostril. Not much hair that deep, but I want to be thorough. I have to look perfect. In a second or two I'm gonna grab a test trimmer and manicure my eyebrows.

"Sure, yeah, I did that." It's easy to split hairs as alms of embarrassment.

"Well, what else?"

"Uhm I shaved my butt hair in the shape of a rose, just for you."

"Great, but hear me now, I don't care what you call that rose, I'm not sniffing it."

"hmmm. Well there goes my plans for Saturday. What have you got planned?"

My eyes water. I've plucked something really deep. I'm about to sneeze. Thinking fast, I grab a loofa from one of the metal arms behind me. It's not the softest thing I've stuck to my nose, but it does do a great job of catching the sneeze in it's netting. I hang it where I found it, and go back to work.

"Yeah, well what other embarrassing things did you do?"

"Well if I told you, they wouldn't be embarrassing." My nose is still dripping. Making sure nobody is looking, I wipe it on my sleeve.

And that's true. We guys aren't that easily embarrassed. We'll do almost anything shocking and won't flinch, blush or cower. Want to embarrass us? Ask us to tell you about it. Yeah, that's where we draw the line.

The woman next to me is looking for something to take home and pluck her eyebrows. At least that's what I hope she's doing. Those face squirrels would make Brezhnev jealous. Then again, maybe plucking isn't the answer.

"Hedge trimmers are in the outdoors section."

"What?" The woman looks at me.

"What?" the Pirate Queen asks into my other ear.

"Sorry," I tell the queen--er, the pirate, I'm not insulting the woman beside me. "Somebody was looking to cut through some serious face hair."

The woman looks at me like I've slapped her. That wasn't my intention, I offer her my tweezers. My nose is done. I sure could use a Kleenex though. The woman huffs away, so I hand the tweezers to the guy on the other side. He's got pampas protruding from his ears.

He nods thanks, and I move from the mirror so he can use it.

See? Nothing embarrasses us, so long as we don't talk about it. When it's out in the air, then it's just freaky. In that way it's like "air" bubbles in a bathtub. The bubbles are fine but the vapors carry an odor all their own, and you can't blame them on your girlfriend, cuz everybody in the tub saw where the bubbles came from. Hmm. Maybe that sentence says a little much about my tubbing experience. See? And if I told you about it, that would be embarrassing. I'm not, I'm keeping it to myself.

I try to return the favor, "So what have you done that's embarrassing?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, getting ready."

She calmly answers, "I'm a girl, we don't get embarrassed."

"Ok, so what have you done?"

"Well, I did a pedicure, and a manicure, but that's really for the trip. It's not for you per se."

"Not embarrassing. What else."

"Well I was thinking of a bikini wax--also for the trip."

"Painful, but not embarrassing. You don't get embarrassed, because you don't do anything embarrassing."

"Well, ok, so I didn't do anything embarrassing, but see? I'm not embarrassed."

I remain silent, waiting for her to offer something.

She thinks a little longer, "I'm getting my hair cut. I mean I might do it for the trip. It's not for you. What do you think?"

I think I see a pattern. I think that she's embarrassed by talking too. I think she's embarrassed by motives. I decide to test my theory.

"So what have you done for me?"

"Uhm…I don't know…I mean nothing…I mean… nevermind." There's a hesitant laugh.

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Women seem more embarrassed by motivation. You know what? If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be standing in the automotive department buffing my chest and handing the other guy a dollar for the last chamois that he's polishing his "big guns" with. Guys don't care about motivation. The fact is our motivation is simple. Anything good we do, we do it for you. That's our motivation. We don't always say it, but it's true, and our silence isn't about embarrassment. It's about survival.

See, if you're the one thing we do good for, then by telling you, we risk you taking it away. The other side of that, is that once we're comfortable, we don't say it because it should be a given. I mean really, why else would the guy in aisle 12 take candle wax to his pubic hair? Ok, you're right, he did look a little freaky. That would explain why he was yelling something about being a bad boy. But other then him, why else would a normal guy do it? Don't look at me. I'm may do some topiary work, but that's about it.

"Is that an elephant?"

"Yes it is, baby."

That's men and motivation for ya. With women, it's all this weird spy trail of secrets, all leading to embarrassment. I don't get it; I'm just the common citizen. I pass Brezhnev woman on the way to the checkout. She's pushing a cart with a hedge trimmer on it, and chamois guy is walking with her.

"Honey," he says, biceps gleaming from florescent lamps, "What's the trimmer for?"

The woman blushes a bit, and says to her discount store Hercules, "It's not for you, I, uhm, have a party next Friday."

"Oh," He tilts his head like a lost puppy for one second, then shrugs, "Ok."

Women are amazing creatures. Women with motivation are scary--but in a good way. Like funhouse good. I mean let's face it, Even if the Pirate Queen isn't doing these things for me I still get to reap the reward. And what more motivation do I need? Ok, I'd tell you but that might be embarrassing.