So I came up with this idea to do a weekly Mortification Monday post where I take a look at my life and share some mortifying tidbits (like the fact that when I just typed this sentence I wrote "mortificaying tidbits").
I'm not sure how many Mondays this series will run, but just remember that although I have the body of a 20 year old (in my freezer) I am almost 42 years old. That's a lot of mortification over the years.
In the mid-1980s, when I was in high school, Howard Stern's radio show was on in the afternoons. I loved it and considered the fact that I listened to it to be the epitome of sophistication. I don't know if Howard did this in his later shows, but at the time he hosted a Dial-a-Date show and one day he announced that for that week, he was going to give away a date with a nymphomaniac--a woman who was addicted to sex, and he invited female listeners who fit the description to call in.
I was all over it.
My friend Sandy was over and I told her to keep listening to the radio in my room, while I went to call Howard from my parents room. Hello, this was before cell phones and cordless phones. I'm not sure what I was thinking--I was a virgin, after all, but I was pretty sure that I could lie my way into convincing Howard's people that I was a nympho. I got through after a few tries.
I answered all the preliminary questions--I said that my name was Marilyn, that I was 20, that I was a student at Barnard and that I was a nymphomaniac. "Are you getting treated for that?" the producer asked. Sandy later told me that everyone who called before me had a angst-ridden tale of psychiatric intervention and teary agony, so when I chirped, "treated for what? Oh, the nymphomania? Not at all, I love it!" I must have sounded extra-insane.
And that's when Howard said, "she sounds good, let me talk to her on the air."
Wouldn't it be great if I remembered what we'd talked about? The only thing that I know for sure is that he asked me how many men I'd been with and I said "It's hard to remember everyone, Howard. At least three." (side note: Children, this is why you shouldn't lie. Not because it's morally wrong, but because you sound like a fucking moron.)
Sadly, and shockingly, I didn't get picked to be that week's Dial-a-Date. Mortifyingly, however, everyone at my school heard me on the air and recognized my harpie-voice. I was SuddenlyPopular. SuperMortifyingly, so did my father. "I had no idea that you were a nymphomaniac!" he told me. Seriously, if you've never had a conversation with your father that started like that, I can't recommend it enough.
Labels: Everyone is insane