Let's Talk Embarassment

On any trip involving an airplane ride's distance, I have inevitably met the gods of embarrassment (further proof that there is indeed such a thing as Karma, and I have a very small amount of the "good" kind).

• In Costa Rica, we boarded a puddle-jumper to get to our resort (eco-friendly, thanks). Puddle-jumpers don't have bathrooms I noticed, a little too late. So I held shut the flood gates for 45 minutes through choppy air, finally descending upon a dirt airstrip. Airstrips, it seems, also do not have bathrooms. I did what any person doing the pee-pee dance would: I high-tailed it into the rain forest and dropped trou. No big deal, you might think, but Cynic has always had difficulty with the squatting method: urine will always find a way to trickle down my leg. Not wanting to get any on my pretty new capris, I decided to just take them off completely. So, to recap, the story finds Cynic naked from the waste down in a rain forest, watching her bodily fluids puddle in the dirt at her feet. Besides pondering what do to if I came face to face with a large snake while I was relieving myself, I found myself eyeing the large leaves growing everywhere, wondering if Costa Rica had an exotic relative of poison sumac, and just how bad it would be to have it growing out of my crotch. Luckily, there was a swift westerly wind so I just took the air-drying option.


• We had checked into our hotel in Mexico, and since our room was not yet ready, we decided to grab a drink on the patio overlooking the beautiful aqua water. As most of you know, I am about a half-shade darker than an Albino; I forgot to apply sunscreen. For two days, my forehead was swollen from sunburn and locals took to calling me "cabeza gorda", or "fat head".


• Descending the rather steep steps at Skellig Michael in Ireland I failed to grasp the concept that rain/drizzle + moss on rock stairs = long way to bottom. Though, in retrospect, I got down a lot more quickly than the people behind me.

My point is, besides the many social faux pas I am sure to make while in Japan, I find myself wondering what the gods have in store for me this time. Perhaps something along the lines of finding a pair of pants that actually fit my American body and then ripping said pants while bending down for something. Or the one time I'm drunk enough on sake to actually do karaoke I'll fall flat on my face after trying to attempt an acrobatic kick while singing "Everyone Was Kung Fu Fighting".