Chicka-Chicka-Bow-Bow

It's extremely hard to embarrass me. This may be one of the only times in my life that I actually felt it.

When I was like 18 or 19 years old, me, my gay husband and my BFF were out driving around. We stopped at 7-11 to get coffee. We got back in the car and were just sitting in the parking lot. One of them, I don't remember who had the brilliant idea, thought it would be funny for me to buy a Play Girl magazine. The only reason it was funny was because you actually had to ask the old man at the register for it. Of course I thought this was a great idea. So I did it. The old man didn't think it was quite as funny as we did. We looked through the mag and all it's awfulness. It was so bad it was comical and we seriously wondered who would buy and read this crap regularly.

Anyhow, we drove around and hung out for a while and then we all went home. I took the PG into my house so I could show my younger sister and we could have a laugh together. Which we did. I didn't know what to do with the magazine since I lived with my parents. I was scared to throw it out for fear that they might see it in the garbage. So I did what any normal moron would do and I put it under my mattress. Being me, I forgot about it. For years.

One fine day I stumble into the house, drunk. (First I have to explain the way my bed was for this to make more sense. I had these BIG formica bunk beds. It had drawers on the whole left side and under the bottom bunk. The bed was in the corner of my room against two walls, so you can imagine why I called the bottom bed "the coffin". I hope this helps with the rest of the story.) So I fall into the house and up to my room. I get to the top of the stairs and my dad yells up to me that he and my mom had to go into my room earlier to find our cat who liked to hide under the bottom bunk. (The only way to get under the bed is between the wall and the bed. He used to slip between and sit behind the bottom drawers.) Our cat was old, but usually if you called him, he'd come right out. He didn't. They thought he died under there and took my mattress and the wood support under it off the frame. Don't worry, the cat was fine but it was at this moment I realized that the Play Girl magazine was under my mattress. I was going to throw up. My parents didn't mention it, they just complained that my room was a mess. I ran into my room and lifted the mattress. The magazine was gone. GONE. They had to have seen it since it's no longer where I'd left it. To this day, they probably think I'm a pervert.

Eventually I was able to look at my parents again. Fast forward another few years when my boyfriend and I were taking apart this monstrosity of a bed to make way for a more adult bed (being at this point I'm now like 23 years old). I take off the mattress and lift up the wood support and what to my wondering eyes should appear? That fricking magazine! My parents must have thought they were being slick and put it back in the wrong spot! They had it between the wood and the drawers! Then I had to explain this to my boyfriend because now he thought I was some sort of perv.

Next time, if there is one, I'm just going to throw it in the garbage. Or not buy one at all. It's funny at the time, but in the end, I guess it's still pretty funny.