Blonde Tails: Mortified with Men

Do blonde's really have more fun? Really?
No, I don't think so. But we can tell one heck of an embarassing story. Or more than one.
Perhaps because obliviousness invites all sorts of odd spectacles into one's life experience, we become magnets for trouble, ridicule and the extraordinary. Which most people consider fun.
Most people aren't blondes.
The only fun from these tales is in the telling of them, trust me.
So enjoy

The other day I was finishing up my run on the Salmon Creek Trail when I espied a familiar face from my institute class emerging from the tree's with a group of rather large and muscular friends.
This particular young man had recently struck up a conversation with the line "You have the most amazingly beautiful eyelashes."
Viewing the meeting through the lens of my past experience with the generally shy breed of young mormon males, I immediately considered him rather eccentric, dashing and debonair. (The beautiful accent helped-though I can't pin down its origin). Here was someone I could easily play along with. A genuine flirt-so to say. So I smiled and playfully batted them at him and we passed a few notes back and forth during class.
I saw him a few times at random events in the weeks following and he would wink and wave or join me for a short conversation.
So, winding down from my run it seemed only natural to me that I ought to say hello my friend. I pulled my headphones out of my ears and ran to join him.
I had noticed the groups of young men in orange suits and vests cleaning up the weeds and debris from the path and really, in the back of my mind, I knew what such groups were.
It never once occurred to me that his group of friends was wearing these vests as well...or that he himself was.
No. The only possibility that entered my oblivious, endorphin happy mind was that I had missed the notice that there was a YSA volunteer group going to clean up the path today-like the one I had joined in on two years ago.
So, jogging up to this group of buff, sharp-eyed men I jovially called out-
"Hey! Is this a volunteer group?"
Completely valley girl style.
Like I said-lots of endorphins.
The group halted as one and turned toward me with dubious and amused expressions.
"Yeeeaaaah..." said my friend, looking me up and down through the corners of his eyes.
There were a few titters from the group.
Then the compatriot closest to my friend coughed loudly into his elbow.
"Cough***we're criminals***cough, cough, cough***"
I quickly continued on with my jog-my pulse racing far faster than before, and fire from the toe of worn out sneakers to the tips of my too-tiny ears.

One afternoon after a trying day of finals at University, I wearily wandered into the Hart Physical Education building, thinking to pound my stresses out on the gym equipment. My head was down and my thoughts were still racing. Every person I passed was possible critic, a hidden foe I had not considered.
I looked up as I entered the locker room to find a face peering intently at mine, as if to divine meaning from the twitch in my eye. He looked at me as though I were a bug squashed on the lense of his glasses. Irritation, confusion, surprise and suspicion-all were present.
"Humph," the noise came out of me of its own volition. I had already had enough. I tossed my head for extra effect. My finals were over-I didn't have to take any more criticism from anyone this day. And I wouldn't. I turned my eyes from his overzealous gaze and marched intently into the locker room. Agrily I stomped down the dark hall, thinking mutinous thoughts as I turned the corner to open my locker
...And froze.
For there in front of me was a rather large quantity of men, in varying degree's of nakedness. My face flushed the color of a cherry tomato as I turned and fled back down the dark hallway to the entrance.
But before I reached the exit I came to an abrupt halt. The boy whom I had snubbed still stood under the frame of the door, looking up at the 'MENS' sign with a bemused and concerned expression.

He did not see me. I tiptoed slowly and silently back into the black hall.
I was not going back out there to face Mr. Critical glare. No siree. No way. Not happening.
But how could I stay in here?
What if another boy needed to leave?
What if they found me here?
What would I say?
I began to pace restlessly.
I stared at the ceiling, hands tangled in my hair-considering yanking it out by the roots.
How did I get myself in these kinds of predicaments?
Why is it that these strange sort of embarrassments seem to happen so constantly to me?
I was muttering frantically to myself when chilvary and concern seem to have taken the better of the boy and he came after me.
I spun around to find him looking down at me with a nervous and somewhat pitying expression.
"Um...are you lost?" He asked.
I couldn't speak.
Shock had me completely wrapped within its icy talons for a full minute before I could embarrassedly choke out a pitiful,
"ya."
"Can I...escort you to the ladies room?" The previously scorned boy graciously offered.
"Please?" I whispered to the ground.
He didn't try to touch me, thank heavens-I may have melted like the wicked witch I had apparently been impersonating. He turned and walked slowly out of the Mens locker room and led me silently to the womens down the hall, glancing back at me cautiously as if afraid I were going to attack.
I released a chagrined 'Thankyou' as he turned away and left me at the door. I ran a full ten miles that day.


See Surrendering Stories-the tale of The Haunter, and From Rock-A-Bye Baby to A Goddess of Chaos for more examples of blonde fun with men. ;)