TOTALLY Embarrassed in Front of Dr. Fancypants

TOTALLY Embarrassed in Front of Dr. Fancypants! HILARIOUS True Tale #doctor #medical #embarrassing #funny #teens

So then…my daughter Chloe, age 14, and I enter the lush plush offices of Dr. Blake, dermatologist extraordinaire, with some trepidation.

Oh, don’t get me wrong – I LOVE Dr. Blake. He’s up on the latest techniques and buys the newest high-tech gadgets.

But Dr. Blake doesn’t take insurance so I know this visit will set me back a cool $200 bucks – which is why we only visit him when his trailblazing expertise is required.

As I sign in, Chloe sprawls on the reception area couch and whispers loudly, “Is it impolite if I lay down here and sleep a little?”

“Oh my God, yes, you slug! Sit up straight and play on your phone like a normal person!”

It’s Spring Break so she’d rather be sleeping in than visiting the doctor, but I’m concerned about a rash she developed on the front of her neck, just above her collar bone, a few weeks ago.

(We’d already visited our regular dermatologist TWICE, who prescribed TWO different ointments – which didn’t work.)

Four weeks later, it’s still there!  And NOW there’s a similar brown rash on her ankles!

So I’ve whipped myself into a frenzy because I’m convinced that this rash is merely the EXTERNAL manifestation of something very SERIOUSLY wrong with her INTERNAL organs.

Hence the visit to the expensive Dr. Blake. He ushers us into the inner sanctum of his high-tech Star Trek-like offices. He puts on his super-awesome magnifying laser goggles WITH lights – and leans in to examine the neck rash.

My heart’s pounding, eager to know the diagnosis.

He reaches toward the tray of silver gleaming equipment, each tool more modern and sleek than the next.

He grabs a cotton ball with alcohol and rubs her neck firmly – and the rash DISAPPEARS.

Let me say that again. He rubs alcohol on the rash – AND IT DISAPPEARS.

Now he rubs alcohol on her ankles and THOSE rashes disappear.


He says, “With dry skin, it’s important to clean well with soap and water when showering.”


She didn’t have a flesh-eating bacterial virus inflammation?

She was just…DIRTY?

He has the good sense to look down discreetly to jot notes in the file, while I shoot a withering glare to my daughter that could melt ALL of her skin into a puddle on the floor.

“Are you kidding me, Chloe? We had to come all the way to the DOCTOR’S OFFICE to find out you don’t SHOWER properly?”

She has the good sense to look sheepish.

(And I assure you — she DOES shower, but evidently needs to apply a bit more enthusiasm to the task.  And to be fair, it was a patch of stubborn dirt, on very dry skin — but STILL.)

She stammers, “Well…I…um…I…”

I burst out laughing. “You don’t work in a coal mine, for God’s sake!”

I sigh dramatically and gather up our purses and sweaters, waiting for Dr. Blake to finish up the paperwork.

He frowns indecisively at the form and murmurs, “There doesn’t seem to be a code for ‘dirt.’”

“OH MY GOD! Do you hear that, Chloe? Do you hear that?” I ask, laughing. “He can’t even find a place on the medical form to code this visit! This is so EMBARRASSING!”

She’s giggling –

He’s chuckling –

And I’m laughing – while simultaneously dying of humiliation – knowing full well he’ll be talking about this at dinner tonight. “Oh, Mavis, you had to see this frantic mother worried her daughter had some disfiguring skin disease — but it turns out her daughter was just dirty!!  Hahaha!  Pass the Chablis.”

Good Lord! You’d think we were train hobos with no access to indoor plumbing.

I’m absolutely mortified, but every time I look at her, and her rash-free neck, I just crack up laughing!


If YOUR child develops a rash –

You could follow MY brilliant plan to rack up THREE doctor visits, $200 plus two $30 co-pays, and FOUR weeks of medical anxiety –

or you could – you know, try a little SOAP AND WATER.

Your choice.

As for me, I might swing by the fire department for Chloe’s daily cleansing…

Totally Embarrassed (Firemen Hose 430)

— Darcy Perdu

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(PLEASE share an embarrassing story about your child so I’ll feel better about myself! Or perhaps a comical visit to the doctor? Something shower-related?)

Please Moms…Stop Working the Pole!

Please Mamas - Stop Working the Pole! (aka the Mother-Son Dance!) Can you BELIEVE these mamas? #funny #schooldance #Humor

So then…I smile when I open the colorful invitation to the Hawaiian Luau-themed Mother-Son Dance at the elementary school –

but I do a double-take when I see the large words at the bottom that say:

Please Moms – No Bikini Tops!

What the what?

I email Tina, one of the school moms organizing the dance:

Me: I love the invitation, Tina. But why does it say “Please Mom – No Bikini Tops?” I don’t even wear a bikini top in the privacy of my own home – why in the world would I wear one in public – – at a mother-son grade-school dance?

Tina: LOL! Believe it or not, some of the moms NEED that guideline. You missed last year’s Disco-themed dance when moms showed up dressed like hoochie mamas and danced like they were on the pole!

Me: Oh.My.God. They were dancing with their sons like that?

Tina: No, they were dancing with each other like that. They barely interacted with their kids at the dance. You know the moms I mean.

Yep, I DO know the moms she means.

On the night of the Hawaiian Luau-themed dance, I see lots of tight, low-cut tops and super-short skirts on those moms, but so far it looks like everyone followed Tina’s invitation request to avoid bikini tops.

But then, just as my son and I exit the dance floor to grab some cookies and punch, I see a mom shimmy through the crowd –

She’s wearing a bikini top OVER a black TURTLENECK sweater.

I shit you not.

I about spit out my punch I’m laughing so hard.

On the one hand, I’m glad Tina’s invitation reminded moms to try to keep it classy — and NOT tart up this grade school function.

On the other hand, I gotta give props to that chick for “stickin’ it to the Man” by refusing to adhere to the dress code – but ensuring she won’t get any flack for revealing too much skin.

That’s pretty damn funny.

Of course, a bikini-clad mom might be “smokin’ hot”…

But in a crowded, poorly-ventilated gym full of sweaty 5th grade boys and moms dancing full force — I can only imagine that a bikini-and-TURTLENECK-clad mom would merely be “hot as hell.”

But rock on, li’l mama, rock on.

— Darcy Perdu


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(Do you have any of “those” moms at your school? Would you ever wear a bikini top to a 5th grade dance? Any funny stories about school moms, dances, or bikinis? Do tell!)

Facepalm – Can’t BELIEVE I Said This to Coworker

Facepalm 433
So then…I round the corner of our uber-plush offices on my way to a staff meeting, still pinching myself that I made it all the way from down-home Louisiana to this Park Avenue job in New York City!

At 22 years old, with only a couple weeks on the job, I’m the very epitome of “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed!”

I shift my files to the other arm and hope I remember some of the names of the people I’ve met so far. As I head down the long hallway, a smiling woman approaches.

She stops in front of me and says, “Laura Ashley.”

I extend my hand and say, “Hi Laura, nice to meet you.”

She frowns at me and waves off my hand, repeating the name, this time with a question mark: “Laura Ashley?”

“No,” I say kindly, relieved I’m not the only one who can’t remember people’s names. “My name is Darcy Perdu. Nice to meet you.”

She “tsks” loudly and shakes her head. “No!” She points at me, up and down. “You! Laura Ashley!”

Omigod, what is with this woman and her insistence that I’m Laura Ashley?

And she seems quite perturbed about it. Does Laura owe her money or something? Did Laura steal her boyfriend?

I’m just about to pull out my ID to prove I’m not Laura, when the woman points at me again and says, “Your dress. Is your dress Laura Ashley?”

Ohhhh. Laura Ashley must be some kind of designer. I’m not familiar with the name so I have no idea if my dress has that label or not.

So I say, “Oh, I don’t know. Um, I’m not sure.” I fumble for the label in the back of my dress.

“Oh,” she says, “If it were Laura Ashley, you’d know. She waves her hand dismissively, continues on her way, and tosses over her shoulder, “I was just going to say it was pretty.”

I look down at my dress. It IS pretty. It’s covered with a pattern of colorful tiny flowers, which I later learn is similar to a typical style of Laura Ashley dresses.

But what puzzles me is how warm and friendly the woman was when she thought I was wearing an expensive name brand dress –

and how frustrated she became when I didn’t recognize that name –

and how she muttered impatiently that she WAS going to say it was pretty –

but almost implied that it was no longer pretty once it was revealed to be an off-brand imitation.

Well, guess what, lady?

I WAS going to say it was nice to meet you – but it wasn’t!

And now me and my off-brand flower-di-da dress are flouncing off la-di-da to the meeting!

— Darcy Perdu

Keep the fun coming! Pop your email address right here for 2 new posts per week!

(Any awkward moments similar to my assumption that the lady was Laura Ashley? I love embarrassing stories, so do tell! And when did you first realize that clothing had names?)

Her Royal Thighness Ad

TRUMPETS BLARING!! Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to present Her Royal Thighness!

Yes, friends, we are amongst royalty – but the very best kind of royalty. Parri Sontag describes herself as the Everywoman ─ “a middle-aged, weight-challenged, chocolate cake-loving semi-professional dieter with a passion for musical theater.”

I first encountered Her Royal Thighness when I read her hilarious story Mom’s Helpful Hints Fall on Deaf Armpits about all the fabulous advice she tries to impart to her teenage daughter who doesn’t seem to recognize just how fabulous it is. When I read this line:

“Mom,” she stopped me. “I really don’t need any more of your deodorant wisdom.”

I completely cracked up because that sounds exactly like something MY daughter would say to ME when I’m trying to pass on MY brilliant bon mots of advice and guidance.

Then I saw that Parri had listed my So Then Stories blog on her link “Who Makes the Thighness Laugh” – and that she had purchased an ad on my site. Wow, I like her AND she likes me? How cool is this? THEN I met her in person at the Erma Bombeck Conference and found out that she’s just as bubbly, funny, and warm-hearted as she is in her posts.

So grab your royal scepter, settle in to your comfiest throne, and enjoy some of these hilarious posts from Parri Sontag of Her Royal Thighness:

Goodbye Jell-O Brick Road

The Year I Gave Dad a Real Humdinger!

Fatty Cat and Me: A Codependent Relationship

Like her Facebook Page: Her Royal Thighness

Follow her Twitter: Her Royal Thighness

And if you leave a comment, please tell her I sent you!
Enjoy! — Darcy Perdu

P.S. And please remember to share a comment below about any of your awkward encounters similar to my Laura Ashley identity crisis!

P Facepalm

How to Mishandle an HR Situation in 1 Easy Step

How to Mishandle an HR Situation 433
So then…I clutch the phone tightly, heart hammering, as the HR person utters those words I’ve been desperately yearning to hear: “We’d like to offer you a job when you graduate college.”


I silently shake my 22-year-old booty and gesticulate wildly, fist pumping and foot hopping!


And not just ANY job! A job at a FORTUNE 500 company on PARK AVENUE in NEW YORK CITY!

I’ve been fantasizing about this dream job for months as my fellow seniors and I prep for graduation and what lies ahead for all of us – new cities, new jobs, and (SQUEAL) new PAYCHECKS!

So NOW is the part of the phone conversation where we discuss income.

I try to shake my body free of the “omigodpleasehiremefortheloveofGodIambeggingyoutohireme” vibe –
And replace it with the
“manyouaresoluckyIagreetoworkforyousogetreadytoponyupthebigbucksbaby” vibe.

I furrow my brow, trying to remember all the clever negotiation techniques my friends and I practiced when discussing how best to secure a terrific starting salary.

Professors taught us to factor in the cost of living in the job location, median salary of other college grads, the type of position, and the relative financial health of the employer.

Based on all that, I REALLY, REALLY want to earn $20,000 a year.

Such a round beautiful impressive number.

And come on, they can afford it! Fortune 500 company! On Park Avenue! In Manhattan!

And come on, I’m worth it! Like seriously “L’Oreal” worth it! Graduating Summa Cum Laude! Paying my way through college by working part-time jobs and taking student loans! Winning awards and scholarships! Earning superb references from multiple summer internships!

I shall stand my ground! I shall earn twenty THOUSAND dollars!

Marvel at my negotiation skills!

HR Exec: “We’d like to offer you a job when you graduate college.”
Me: “Thank you for the offer. What’s the salary?”
HR Exec: “The starting salary will be $18,600 per year.”
Me: “Oh. (pause) I was thinking $20,000.”
HR Exec: “Really? ‘Cause we were thinking $18,600.
Me: “Oh. OK. That’s fine. Thank you. Thank you very much.”

Did you see that?
Did you see how I had them shaking in their shoes, terrified they’d lose the hottest young recruit in their company’s history?
Did you see how they almost caved – then I swooped in and magnanimously offered to reduce my salary so they could donate funds to charitable causes like blind orphan puppies?
You missed that?
It’s in the subtext. Highly sophisticated people would get it.

So anyhoo…what was YOUR starting salary for your first real job?
And were you as brilliant and tough a negotiator as I?

— Darcy Perdu

Keep the funny coming – just pop your email address right here to be sure you see my new posts each week!

(So spill – any fun salary negotiation stories to share? From either side of the desk? Do you remember your starting salary at your first real job – and what was the job?)

P How to Mishandle an HR Situation

Suspicious Laptop Behavior — and My Preteen

Suspicious Laptop Behavior 433

So then…a friend mentions she’d missed this true story the first time around since it was posted when the blog first started — and that she was dying laughing, so I figure I’ll share it with you in case YOU missed it too!

So then…the server sets down the second round of drinks. As we toast Girls’ Night Out as carefree ladies for a whole evening, unencumbered by husbands and kids, it’s only natural that the conversation turns to…

our children’s poo patterns.

“My God, it takes my daughter forever to poo. She takes a book in there and it seems like hours before she comes out again!” exclaims Patty.

“She’s 8 and she’s bringing a book to the bathroom? She’s like an old man!” says Brenda. “My son doesn’t bring anything in the bathroom, but I can hear him talking in there – no phone – nobody else in there — just him talking.” We laugh and encourage her to set up a recording device.

Julie confides, “Well, my son is 5 but he still does the same thing he’s done since he was 2. If he has to poo, he strips completely naked and sits on the pot, singing at the top of his lungs! He says it’s the only way he can go number two!”

We all laugh. “Well, let’s hope he out-grows that before adulthood. That could be awkward around the office,” I say.

“What about your kids, Claire?” asks Julie.

“Well, I don’t mean to brag—“

(Don’t you, Claire? Don’t you, really?)

“—but Allie and Max are pretty regular. They’re 12 and 8 and they just go in every morning and evacuate their bowels,” says Claire.

“EVERY morning?!” we exclaim.

“Well, yes, doctors say it should happen daily — and morning evacuation is the best. I feed the kids plenty of fiber, salads, and—“

“Oh, shut up, Claire. We hate you,” says Julie good-naturedly.

“Yeah, Claire, we hate you and your perfect bowel-evacuating children,” says Brenda with a mock scowl.

Claire laughs, and tries to look humble, but secretly she’s beaming inside.

Patty mutters into her sangria, “Good Lord, my daughter doesn’t poo every day. I’m not even sure if she poos every week.

Patty waves her wine glass in my direction. “OK, Darcy, fess up. What’s the evacuation situation at your house?”

“Well, Chloe’s 9 and she’s pretty regular, I guess. But Tucker’s 12 and always takes a long time to poo. But lately, he’s been taking his computer in there and it seems to take even longer.

Everyone’s eyes widen.

“Oh my God – well, he IS 12. That’s around the age, right?” asks Patty.

“Oh no, do you think he’s…you know?” asks Brenda, somewhat mortified.

“He must be! That’s what the computer’s for – he’s looking at porn!” says Julie.

Claire is speechless.

“Well, that’s exactly what I wanted to know,” I said. “Every time I asked him what’s taking so long or what are you doing on the computer, he was really evasive. So I thought, oh my God, what if he’s in there…looking at sexy pictures and…doing what teenage boys — you know.”

I lower my voice and they lean in a little closer.

“So yesterday after he was in the bathroom forever, he went downstairs. I snuck up there, grabbed his computer and checked the browser history. And there it was – Club Penguin!”

Everyone laughs and looks reassured. All our kids have been to the Club Penguin website to play the computer games there. It’s harmless — but addictive, since the kids want to check on their penguins all the time, so we discourage playing it on school nights.

“Here I thought my little angel was using the computer to find inappropriate websites for arousal and self-pleasuring – and the whole time he’s just been playing Club Penguin! I was so relieved!” I say.

“Unless…” whispers Julie.

“Unless what?”

“Well, unless he’s aroused by…you know…penguins,” says Julie.

I gulp.

Julie laughs.

“Oh, I’m just kidding,” she says. “I’m sure he doesn’t have a penguin fetish.”

She grins. “Or does he?”

— Darcy Perdu

(Share a funny story about your kid’s odd behavior – or something about penguins – or PORN – or PENGUIN porn!)

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P Suspicious Laptop Behavior