There are all kinds of forms of humiliation in life.

You would think that at this age it would no longer matter what other people think, but still, there's that throwback Victorian upbringing in most of us, you know the voice, the tone, the internal rising of a blush coming on, the need to look away.

I heard on public radio the other night that humans are the only creatures capable of blushing, of even knowing shame.

No one else cares, monkeys for example, if anyone sees them at their worst. I never liked them much because of that or maybe it was because my mother never let us linger long watching monkey island at the Milwaukee Zoo, as something was bound to happen that we, as children, shouldn't see. To this day I feel guilt even watching a National Geographic special on monkeys. I hear my mother's voice:

"They should be wearing clothes," she'd chide.

I'm babbling.

I could not look the young male college kid in the eye who was checking me out at the Fond du Lac Public Library Saturday as I handed him "Hot Flashes, Hormones & Your Heath," with a bright yellow blurb on the cover that shouted "Find out if HORMONE THERAPY is right for you."

Somehow I wasn't thinking when I took that baby off the shelf, it never entered my mind who I would encounter at the check-out counter.

If that wasn't bad enough, I found a parking ticket on my car, but I'm going to fight it. I wonder if I can get a jury trial.

No one should have to pay to park at a public building, like the library.

I'm with you on this one Sister Stella! I'm free Monday night if you want to get together and make some picket signs.