~ Chaperone From Hell~

He had forgotten his black belt.  You can’t wear a Tux without your belt, especially when the beat drops and you’ve got no choice but to get your Jam on.

Look, I’m white bread, with mayonnaise, and I have no idea what I just said about dropping beats with jam.  It’s hard to act cool when you’re a confirmed Master Dork.  Don’t judge.

My Captain and I had run up to the middle school so we could deliver said black belt, and peeked inside the dance hall (aka, cafeteria) to see how the middle schoolers were handling their first dance.   It was about what you would expect.  All the girls were on one side of the room, all the boys were on the other, and what dancing there was going on resembled something between a grand-mal seizure, and a toddler tantrum.

We were about to leave, after depositing the belt to a grateful, and very dapperly dressed Critter, when another parent asked us: “Can you stay? We need more chaperones.  Specifically Men with booming voices.”

My Captain gave me a pained look, but I knew that OF COURSE he would stay.  He never, and I mean, NEVER denies a request for help.

He went to the gym where basketball was being played, and I stayed in the dance room.  But after a while, and after I had said, “No,” and “No!” and “Oh HEELLLLL NO!” to various munchkins several times, I went to My Captain’s room and asked him to switch.

He had the kids well in hand in the blink of an eye, which left me fuming in my impotence.  He comes off as strong and in-charge to the kids, and I just come off as a meanie, nagging, barking bitch.  Why?  Why is that?

By the end of the evening, we were both drained.  I had grown a greater respect for the staff at that school, as well as a keen curiosity as to what in the holy hell would make anyone want to be around several hundred punks of that age every day.  It boggles the mind.

One thing made the evening’s effort worth it, though.  And that was this:

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Have I mentioned how much I love my Critter?  He looked like Cary Grant and Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes, all in one writhing, gyrating, beat-dropping bundle of energy.

He would have made an excellent Solid Gold Dancer.

 

 

 

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