Blah, blah, blah

Recently, a friend and I were talking about our most embarrassing moments (and, believe me, there have been a lot !)

I would have to say, the hands-down winner for me occurred when Tim and I were on vacation (and naturally, it was all his fault. No, really.)

The hotel was fabulous, the room was great, the beach wonderful. Life was bliss. Until day two when I tried to use the hair dryer and Tim tried to use the internet.

The dryer was one of those wall-mounted units, but not the normal kind. This one looked more like a vacuum attachment with its ribbed, (semi) flexible hose and rectangular nozzle. I wasn't sure whether I should dry my hair or hunt for dust bunnies under the bed.

It also had one setting, fry, which not only referred to your hair, but also the skin on your hand holding the dryer. It was enough to make Vidal Sassoon want to shave his head.

Being moderately (okay, okay, obsessively) fond of my hair, not to mention wanting to avoid a trip to the ER for treatment of third degree burns, I made a trip to the drug store where I purchased the only dryer they had. It was about the size of my palm, but sounded like a jet was taking off in the bathroom.

Hmmmm. So my choices were: having a really bad hair day, or going deaf. I started learning sign language.

Tim's internet problem was a much easier fix. He called the front desk and they told him they would send somebody up. Done.

It was when our two solutions collided that my moment occurred.

After a hard day of lounging on the beach and frolicking in the water (well, not so much frolicking as floating and lounging there too -- wouldn't want to expend too much energy), we returned to the room where I hopped into the shower and Tim hopped onto the phone.

As I stood there in my underwear, aiming what amounted to a hand-held police siren or air horn at my head, Tim opened the bathroom door, stuck his head in, and interrupted his call long enough to say, "Blah, blah, blah." He then popped out, shutting the door behind him before I could react.

Now normally, I would just ignore whatever he had to say if it interfered with my beauty regimen. After all, what could possibly be more important than my hair? But, judging from the expression on his face, this had seemed to be a matter of some concern.

Heaving a sigh, I shut off the dryer, flung open the bathroom door and barrelled out into the little hallway snapping, "What did you say?"

And came face to face, or rather face to torso with the tech guy kneeling on the floor who was trying to fix Tim's internet connection problem.

Apparently, "Blah, blah, blah," translated into: "Don't come out of the bathroom unless you want to share way too much personal information with a complete stranger."

The next day, after I was talking to Tim again, we went looking for another hair dryer.