During the days of “That’s what she said!”, brought to us by my personal favorite comedy actor—Steve Carell—there were many inappropriate jokes made; some good, some bad, and some blatantly stupid. And while many of these jokes were intentional, some of the best were not.

This was one of those jokes.

Cruise ships are like mini floating hotels that moves. If you’ve never been on one, I suggest trying it at least once in your lifetime. But beware: you will see the same people everywhere you go for one whole week. So if you’re anything like me, and get a tad cranky in close quarters, maybe you should rethink this form of voyage. It’s also an unfortunately conducive space for embarrassing moments.

For example, should you jump into the pool and your bathing suit flies off, the same people will be there to remind you of the tragic moment, day after day after day after day.

So, my tip: refrain from behavior that may attract unwanted attention. Unless you’re like me, and it follows you wherever you go. (I almost trampled an old man on a cruise ship once—that’s an actual true story—but not the point of this one).

This story involves myself, Sophie, and my younger sister; for now we’ll call her Edith.

One bad thing about being a girl is the clothes. Not just any clothes either, but the formal kind; the kind that give you a permanent wedgie, and make you walk like a penguin. (Though I suppose this could be based on individual opinion. I personally don’t think so, but…)

It was a formal wear night in the dining room on the cruise ship and I was dressed in a nice skirt, leggings, and a top; basic stuff. (I just can’t deal with dresses. It’s like you’re going commando, but with underwear. Ha, because that’s not contradictive!) And for the most part I was comfortable, except for the fact that the clothes were so tight I could hardly move, let alone breath.

Dinner neared its finish and dessert was brought out, after which, we—Edith, Sophie, and I—were going to go back to our rooms to watch a movie. But first Sophie had to pee, and she told us so.

And as the accurate stereotype says: girls go to the bathrooms in packs. It’s a safety in numbers thing, I guess.

“Will you go to the bathroom with me?” Sophie asked.

“No.” I said.

“Please.”

“No.”

“Pretty please.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t take my pants off.”

Now—at the time—in my tight skirt and leggings, this seemed a reasonable answer. I just didn’t think it through before I responded. And apparently, Sophie didn’t either, because five seconds later she screamed:

“What do you mean you can’t take your pants off?!”

Nearly half the room turned and stared, (which is saying a lot, because there are three stories to the dining room).

Neither of us spoke for a long moment, and we refused to meet the looks of the people staring at us. In fact, our fits of laughter didn’t begin until Sophie leaned over—straight faced—and whispered: “that’s what she said.”

As I said before, the best jokes are the spontaneous ones. The ones that don’t come with much thought, but rather, pure instinct. That’s what this joke was, and I started my asthma laughing so hard. (Yeah, it does that sometimes. I told you I was average.)

So, I guess it’s time to announce the lesson learned in all of this.

Readers reading this: if you ever decide to go on a cruise ship, and you are in the dining room, don’t scream out things about your pants. It doesn’t go over very well.

Forever and Average,

Mel