Humiliation is like when a young married woman with no clue, living with the in-laws, her husband, a two-year-old, and a newborn, is encouraged by said husband to go on a shopping trip to a popular tourist beach town with the woman who works as the receptionist at the company he works for. She assumes that her husband is doing this out of kindness because in the two years they’ve lived in the South, with the in-laws, she has not really made any friends.
So she gets in the car with this other woman; this’ll be her first trip to the huge outlet mall in this beachside city, maybe she’ll find some nice stuff because they’ve found a place to finally move out or something nice for her husband. The receptionist woman at first is nice to chat with, sharing life histories–the receptionist woman is divorced, with a son, and they get to this outlet mall and start shopping. I think it starts when the young woman is looking at cards for one to give to her husband–a nice romantic card.
Humiliation is in the store and on the way home when the receptionist woman starts asking questions: Do you love your husband? What if he were to find another woman? What if he were to leave you? And still the young woman is f’ing consciously clueless. Very uncomfortable, though. To this day, she cannot listen to “That’s What Friends Are For” without being right back there in that passenger seat.
Humiliation is the receptionist woman coming in to the in-laws’ house, and yes, the husband is home, and she just won’t leave–talking and talking. And the married woman is getting upset and frustrated and maybe the clues are there, but now she doesn’t want to see. She doesn’t understand.
Finally, the other woman leaves.
Humiliation is like when your now ex-husband tries to get you to be friends with his mistress because he wants his cake and to eat it too; because he has no guts to tell you he’s having an affair and wants her to tell you; because, really, I’m still clueless as to why.