Have I mentioned how I’ve exposed my rear too many times in this life of mine?
When I was around ten years old, my older brother, Jeremy, and I were catching crawdads with Brian, a cute red headed boy my age. He’d just moved to southern
Florida. Living in Big Cypress National Preserve, otherwise known as the swamp in the middle of nowhere, meant there weren’t a whole lot of other kids. In fact, before Brian’s family showed up the only other kids were my three older siblings.
So, yeah, I was pretty excited to have Brian around. And did I mention he was a cute redhead?
Anyway, the tide was high and the brackish water had pooled in a shallow area of the swamp. The water was only up to our ankles as we scooped up crawdads and put them in our bucket.
For some reason, I decided to go home. I’m fairly certain Jeremy said or did something which made me mad. I hopped on my bike and tore out of there. .Only my dramatic exit was cut short a few seconds later as I crashed into the gravel.
With scratched hands and a bruised ego, I glanced back at my brother and Brian hoping they hadn’t witnessed the tragedy. Of course, they had. I jumped back on my bike and pumped my legs as fast as I could. Then I looked behind me. And my heart fell beneath my spinning tires.
Brian was following me on his bike. And he was shouting, “
I pedaled faster, standing up to get my tires moving really fast. I glanced over my shoulder again and again. Brian kept coming.
Finally I made it home. And I can’t remember if he caught up to me before I got into the house, but either way, I do remember what Brian, the cute red headed boy said to me next.
“Um…I was just trying to tell you…uh…that you ripped the back of your pants.”
My hands flew to the seat of my favorite pink and white striped capri leggings. Sure enough, I found a large gaping hole.
I ran to my room to change. I’m sure I never wanted to leave that room again. But the next thing I remember is finding Brian sitting in our living room drinking a tall glass of lemonade that my mom had given him. I think I tried to act natural. Like, it was totally normal to chat with a cute boy over lemonade after completely humiliating myself.
Unfortunately this wasn’t the last time I bared my backside.
When I was a young teenager I climbed a massive boulder with my best friend and a bunch of boys from school who were camping on top of the giant rock thing. I had on my favorite outfit, a silky blue and green plaid shirt and stretchy form-fitting jeans. Yes, 90’s clothes were awesome.
I wasn’t too sure about climbing that rock. It was very tall. It was smooth. And the night was dark. The boys said they’d help. And they were cute.
I’m sensing a pattern here.
So, anyway, I went for it. At one point I was sliding on my rear along the rock. And then I heard it.
A horrible sound. It struck terror into my tiny teenager heart. I wanted to find a hole in that rock and crawl inside. If I didn’t have to deal with the next scene of my uncomfortable teenage years, I’d have happily become a hermit and eaten squirrels for the rest of my life.
But there was no avoiding what came next.
The back of my pants had ripped. Again. I’d caught them on a sharp edge of stone.
I froze. I couldn’t move. How was I going to climb that rock with a teenage boy climbing right behind me and my pants ripped open, my knickers there for the world to see?
And we’re not talking about a small rip here.
Oh, no, no, no. This was a lovely cheek-and-panty-flashing kind of rip. This was a larger than the moon kind of rip. Okay. Half a moon.
My cute classmate assured me he wouldn’t look. I had to keep climbing, he said. We were halfway up. And he would follow behind me, helping, but he wouldn’t look at my bum.
The wind was cold that night on my exposed rear. And I’m sure my face was redder than a baboon’s weird behind.
But I climbed that rock. And luckily one of the boys at the top had a sweatshirt he loaned me. I tied it around my waist and had a fun and silly evening with those teenage boys. Why one of them even lost all his facial hair, including his eyebrows and eyelashes that night in a small explosion. I can still picture him racing toward me, soot and terror covering his face.
I could go on and on with these embarrassing episodes involving my derriere. Like when I lifted the garage door for my parents who sat in the car behind me. And my dress was tucked into my pantyhose.
Yeah, that’s not a side you ever want to share with your dad.
So, there you have it.
I worked in an animal comparison. Saying my face was redder than a baboon's rear is funnier than just saying it was red. I shared some anecdotes. And I completely abandoned my dignity.
These are great methods for writing humor. They work for funny blog posts, articles and also when writing fiction.
Say you want to create a funny character. Maybe he's always trying to make people laugh. Or maybe he’s just naturally funny. He can share embarrassing stories and anecdotes from his past.
Work in some animal comparisons. Think of funny and weird animals to use.
Also, if you’re going to write funny stuff, you just have to let yourself go. You can’t be too critical of yourself or worried what others might think. In other words, you can’t be too dignified. Kick that dignity to the curb and be funny.
Now it’s your turn. Care to share an embarrassing anecdote from your teenage years? Anything involving bum flashing?