Marius, Marius, Marius. Whatever am I going to do with you?
The cheerleader story isn't nearly as exciting as you're likely imagining it to be. For one, I was a baby -- around 5 or so. Had to be, because my sister and I were still at the Benjamin school. Good Lord, that was a long time ago!
Anyway. For some long since forgotten reason, I'd decided I wanted to be a cheerleader. I loved the pom poms and the cheers and the jumps, which I fancied myself quite good at. The reality was undoubtedly disappointing, but as I'm not the one who had to watch it, I wouldn't know.
We were at home getting ready to go to a game, and I had the sinking feeling that I was forgetting something. I couldn't imagine what that something could possibly be. We were all piled in the car when it hit me.
I'd forgotten my bloomers.
Oops.
I knew it, sitting in the car in the garage, knew it the entire way to school, felt it through the entire game, until it was my turn to cheer. I tried not to jump so high. . . to no avail. No matching yellow bloomers. Substitute white with little blue flowers.
My mom was mortified, though not nearly so much as I; to this day I wonder why I didn't say something while we were in the car at home.
One of life's little mysteries, I guess.
So, that's the cheerleader story.
If you behave yourself, tomorrow I'll tell you about the time I forged my mom's signature.
:D
The cheerleader story isn't nearly as exciting as you're likely imagining it to be. For one, I was a baby -- around 5 or so. Had to be, because my sister and I were still at the Benjamin school. Good Lord, that was a long time ago!
Anyway. For some long since forgotten reason, I'd decided I wanted to be a cheerleader. I loved the pom poms and the cheers and the jumps, which I fancied myself quite good at. The reality was undoubtedly disappointing, but as I'm not the one who had to watch it, I wouldn't know.
We were at home getting ready to go to a game, and I had the sinking feeling that I was forgetting something. I couldn't imagine what that something could possibly be. We were all piled in the car when it hit me.
I'd forgotten my bloomers.
Oops.
I knew it, sitting in the car in the garage, knew it the entire way to school, felt it through the entire game, until it was my turn to cheer. I tried not to jump so high. . . to no avail. No matching yellow bloomers. Substitute white with little blue flowers.
My mom was mortified, though not nearly so much as I; to this day I wonder why I didn't say something while we were in the car at home.
One of life's little mysteries, I guess.
So, that's the cheerleader story.
If you behave yourself, tomorrow I'll tell you about the time I forged my mom's signature.
:D
posted by Akashabreeze | 9:30 PM
1 Comments:
Behave myself!? After you showed your tighty-whities to the whole elementary school? It just gets me so mad, the way that 1st grade cheerleading has become so decadent and depraved!
hee hee
I'm actually relieved to hear that the whole cheerleading thing was a childhood occurrance. Hell, in Kindergarten I was painted up to look like an indian chief, albeit the world's palest native American, and carried around during a parade. I'm still not sure how that happened. :-)
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