musingsonwomenshealth.com

Reflections on 40 years as a doctor in Women's Health

Oh shame, where is thy blush?


There are challenges that arise as we move through life; there are things we attempt before our autumn approaches, and then, later, without the cover of leaves, see anew… It is all so confusing; all so embarrassing to be confronted time and again with the stress we have still not resolved.

But, embarrassment is more of a reparation, isn’t it? By showing I am affected by the situation, I am in a sense acknowledging I should have reacted differently. Awkwardness, on the other hand is different: it’s not something I have done in isolation, or can even fix on my own because I’m not sure how I could have done it differently. Being awkward requires that it be noticed; it is a kind of social rupture, really. ‘The failure involved in embarrassment is a failure to conform to existing norms. Awkwardness is different: it happens when we don’t have a social script to conform to.’[i]

I can’t say I am now any less awkward than I used to be in many social situations; perhaps I am a slow learner despite my many overburdened years of immersion, but there you have it. I have learned to live with my gaffes, I guess -or at least learned to avoid those circumstances where they might occur. Where I do not know the proper etiquette or cannot read the room I am embarrassed of course, but not so much for my inadvertent blunders as for my uncomfortable naïveté.

I suppose being praeternaturally shy has always played a role in my life. Despite my counterfeit demeanour, it is all pretence and I still feel uncomfortable around large groups of people -especially popular people like athletes who were members of the school team, or the women who were picked by the athletes.

Being short, bespectacled, and interested more in books than performance did not often lead to other than chance encounters socially. So it was an unexpected surprise when I saw a beautiful girl sitting by herself in one of the busy university coffee shops. I was in my freshman year there, but she looked vaguely familiar. Maybe she shared one of those huge freshman classes with me; a face like hers would stand out even in a crowded auditorium.

She seemed to be waiting for somebody and her eyes happened upon mine as she glanced around the room; I suppose nothing other than the accidental eye contact made her smile at me. At any rate the room was full and I couldn’t find an empty table, so I thought I’d see if she’d let me sit at hers -I mean, what the heck, eh?

“Is this seat taken?” I asked, already embarrassed.

She smiled and shrugged. “I was waiting for a friend, but she must have a class or something.” She looked around the room again before resting her eyes on me again. “I’m Jessica,” she said, extending her hand to shake.

“Everybody calls me G,” I replied, as I shook her hand, my palm already moist.

I remember being grateful that she’d referred to her friend as a ‘she’. Maybe it meant that she was actually unattached; maybe I had a chance… At any rate, she seemed glad of the company, although I did notice that even though we had a few things in common to talk about, she kept sneaking glances around the room and smiling. I’d never sat with a popular girl before, so I assumed that she was just acknowledging people she knew.

She finished her coffee and smiled at me as she cleared her things from the table; her eyes seemed to sparkle in the sunlight streaming through the window as she pushed away a lock of golden hair that had fallen over her cheek. “Well it’s been nice talking with you, G,” she said and  pushed her chair away from the table to leave. “Maybe we’ll meet again sometime, eh?”

As she stood up, she made eye contact again. It must have seemed significant to me, because I remember blushing at the inadvertent intimacy. I decided to use the opportunity, even if I might not be able to invent a clever, unrehearsed phrase. So, just as she started to turn her head away, I forced myself to say, “Well, how about going to a movie or something on Saturday…?”

She immediately turned towards me and smiled, her face softening as she thought about it. Then she nodded “Sure,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I’m sharing a house  with some friends on the North Campus Road: Number 3972.”

“Seven o’clock okay with you?” I said, writing it down on a paper napkin -I like to be sure about these things.

She nodded again, smiled at the napkin, and then waved at somebody across the room as she walked away.

I suppose these things don’t mean much to somebody who is used to going out on dates, but for me, it was a source of elation mixed with terror for the rest of the week as I realized just how far outside of my comfort zone I had ventured.

I practiced the things I would say when she came to the door of her house: it had to be slick and unforced. I had to seem nonchalant about dating -debonair, and charming; I had to convince her that she hadn’t made a mistake in accepting my offer. I had to act as calm as she had.

But as Saturday approached I became more and more worried that I would make some awkward blunder that would demonstrate my nervousness. I remembered what a friend of mine had told me about his high school days. “If you’re nervous, G, just bring some flowers and hand them to her instead of saying something silly. They love that! It tells them that you’ve put some effort into the date.” Mind you, he was a member of the school football team, so he could have gone to the door with just a smile and they’d have been thrilled.

Flowers seemed like a good idea and I stopped at a flower shop on my way to her house. But I didn’t want to overwhelm her; I settled on a single, long stemmed yellow rose after asking the florist what she thought might be the best colour for a first date. Her eyes crinkled with a big smile. “She must be a special first date, to merit a rose, eh? I won’t wrap it in paper, so it’ll seem more natural…”

I blushed at that. This wasn’t going to be easy, I could tell; maybe the rose would be overkill…

I wasn’t sure what to do with the rose when I knocked on Jessica’s door, however. I tried putting it inside my jacket, but the stem was too long and stuck out at the bottom. So, should I just hand it to her as soon as the door opened, or kind of hold off until she saw it in my hand…?

I checked my watch for the third time, then knocked on the door. I could hear music inside and some muffled laughter. Suddenly the door opened and Jessica appeared. A man standing just behind her was holding her hand.

Her eyes widened when she saw me. “Oh my God! G…”

“I just thought I’d bring you a rose for sitting with me in the coffee shop on Monday,” I managed to mumble. I didn’t know what else to say; she’d obviously forgotten our date. Sometimes I think I’m too awkward for words.

But, anyway, I’m glad I brought flowers…

[i] https://aeon.co/essays/we-should-take-awkwardness-less-personally-and-more-seriously

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