LIFE BLUNDERS

Where is that hole in the floor when you need it?

In the moment, you want to die or at least disappear into a hole in the floor, but later, we laugh about it. And hard too. That's why this Friday, the worst blunders from personal experience. And those of friends.

Let me start with myself. I had a friend with whom the friendship had somewhat faded. For months, I wanted to call her, but it never happened, making the moment to call increasingly difficult. You know how it is.

At that time, I worked at Sanoma where the women lived in Hoofddorp (lucky us) and the men were in Amsterdam.

I had seen him a few times, but I could avoid a meeting.

At one point, the men were placed with us in Hoofddorp (I can tell you that the Christmas parties were a lot less stale from that moment on), including coincidentally the boyfriend of that friend I had to call for months. I had seen him a few times, but I could avoid a meeting by just looking the other way. But when he was at the coffee corner where I was also heading, I thought: it has to end now. No cowardice, just greet that man.

The guy in question has somewhat casually messy hair, is a little bit stocky, and looks very nice. I stood next to him and gently tickled his hand. Like: look who is standing next to you.

He turned his head towards me. What turned out? It was not my friend's man but the editor-in-chief of Playboy whom I was suggestively tickling on his hand. I stammered that I thought he was someone else, you know, that guy. To which he was a bit offended (because that guy was much heavier), but if I liked it very much, I could tickle him for a bit. Oh boys, how embarrassing.

Another quite painful situation was when I ended up in the bar of the Hilton with a fashion friend, a hairdresser, and a pregnant woman. The hairdresser was indeed a bit feminine, had medium-length hair, was well-dressed, refined in his gestures, you know the type.

Do you know who just stood by me at the checkout?

After an hour, he went to the bathroom. “What a gay guy,” said my fashion friend. “And he even said he was expecting a child. I really don't believe that.” The pregnant woman in our company hadn't said much yet. This seemed like a good moment for her to speak up. “He's not gay, you know. And he is indeed having a child.” She pointed to her pregnant belly. “Our child.”

An old friend of mine is Mirjam de Graaff, the sister of Bart de Graaff. For the younger ones among us, Bart was a presenter who suffered from a kidney disease which gave him quite a unique appearance. He was short, had quite large ears, and a rather wrinkled little face. I loved Bart and thought he had the most fun face, but really very handsome, he was not. One day, Mirjam and Bart went to the supermarket. In line at the checkout, Mirjam realized she had forgotten the milk. “You pay for it and go to the car, then I'll catch up with you with the milk.” So said, so done. Bart was already out of sight when Mirjam came to the same cashier. “Do you know who just stood by me at the checkout?” The cashier was still full of her encounter. “Bart de GRAAFF!” she continued. “And he is SMALL!” “And UGLY!” Mirjam let a small silence fall to take her revenge. “Small, ugly and... my brother.”

That poor, poor cashier. I think she never got over the shock.

Moral of the story; if you make a blunder, comfort yourself. You are not alone.