Winter storm Jonas was apparently a true disaster. However, it had its funny moments. You all remember the video of a girl wearing only an XXL t-shirt and walking barefoot in the snow. Her action needed some guts and, if Wikipedia had a ‘walk of shame’ definition web page, her picture would be the cover.
If you are not familiar with the term, let me elaborate. No, it is not the, rather extravagant, naked stroll Cersei took in Game of Thrones. However, most of the people doing this ‘catwalk’ feel somehow similar. There is no nun ringing a bell and chanting ‘shame’, but I’m damn sure they all see an imaginary one. We all see her, to be honest.
Each and every one of us has at least experienced one (or more) walks of shame. It is that very morning, preferably after a crazy night, that you wake up with a hangover headache. Bad news. Where the hell did you wake up? Even worse. Where are your clothes? Do you want more? Who is that guy or girl sleeping and drooling on the pillow next to you -or even on the top of you; but let’s not be gross. If you end up finding a tiger, a llama or any weird animal or serpent in the bathroom, then you totally nailed it, but today we’re not going to talk about that.
So here comes the moment that you have to walk away, as discretely as you can. Not because of politeness or not wanting to wake anyone up, but because of your urge to disappear as fast as you can, without giving any further explanations. Most of the times, it’s not as easy as it seems. Finding your… apparel after a night that you barely recall is harder than a treasure hunt. If you are lucky enough, you will come out in one piece. If not, welcome to the walk!
Chapter 1: The big exit
That guy (what the hell’s his name?) is sleeping over your beloved dress; the one you recently bought during the sales. If you wake him up, he’ll start cuddling you and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You decide to do a rather fair exchange and ‘borrow’ his t-shirt with the “Female Butt Inspector” stamp, which apparently looks like a dress on you. Heels in hand –there is no way you can walk on these monsters with swollen feet– and there you go. Don’t worry, though. If you were a guy, this could have been worse. Imagine you running out of a girl’s house in pink sweatpants with a glitter “Juicy” logo on the your behind because you couldn’t find yours.
Chapter 2: The shame itself
After the initial shock and adaptation to the evil sun, which is blinding you –yes dear, it’s already morning– there you are, on the road again, looking for the safest way to your place. In this particular case, safest equals to the least possible encounters with other citizens of the planet Earth.
Let me tell you something. It’s not going to happen. One does not simply arrive safely at home after the walk of shame. Your phone is, most likely, dead and you spent all your money on last night’s booze. No taxi for you. You will just walk all the way home. This where the true shame begins.
People going to work see you and wave their heads up and down wondering on how lazy you might be. Kids going to school laugh and run away, or even take pictures to show their classmates. Oh yes, you have become the new school attraction; for one day at least. Old ladies pointing at you with disgust, missing the good old days when “this sort of thing didn’t happen”, disappointed on how the new generations have taken a turn for the worst, and many more reactions, make your walk an unforgettable experience.
After some kilometers and an exponential ratio of mockery, you arrive home, throw the clothes of shame away, fall in the bathtub or into your bed, stay there for something less than an eternity and promise yourself that this will never happen again.
But come on, who are you kidding?
Till next time!