Sonny split his pants in school last week. While square dancing during music class.
Now I’ve been square dancing a time or two. And unless they’ve improved it greatly in recent years, I don’t remember ANY opportunity that presents itself DURING square dancing that would require pants splitting.
In fact, during freshmen year in highschool, I took a gym class pertaining to various forms of public dancing and there was not one single, solitary pants splitting incident. There was waltzing, the jitterbug, even the hustle…and yes, square dancing. But nope, no pants splitting.
And this DOES sound like the worst gym class in the history of the world, doesn’t it? How ‘bout now, when I tell you that sometimes the gym teacher would turn the thumbscrews at the beginning of the class by calling out, “Ladies’ Choice!” That’s when the girls had to ask the boys to partner them instead of the other way around. BARF! I would always rush over to a guy from my typing class to snap him up before anyone else could. And not because I had a crush on him or anything (even though his hair WAS feathered), but because he was one of the only guys who was TALLER than I was freshman year. My kids feel sorry for me when I tell this story because I apparently went to school with a bunch of shrimpy dudes. (Their words, not mine.)
And you caught that part about the guy being from my TYPING class, right? Yep. That’s right: TYPING CLASS. This makes the whole story even worse in my kids’ eyes, “What kind of a stupid class is that? Couldn’t you have taken TECH class? Or COMPUTER class?!?” No. No I couldn’t have. Because those classes didn’t exist. Only ballroom dancing and typing class existed when I was a freshman in highschool.
So NOW you would be correct and completely accurate if you have formed the impression that I should win an award for Worst Gym Class Story. A bunch of highschool freshman, awkward enough as it is, then being required to move their arms and legs in synchronicity to a beat?! Step, 2, 3, 4 STEP, 2, 3, 4. In front of each other in a brightly lit gymnasium at 9 in the morning??! Awful. Especially when you consider that the guys were, for the most part, a bunch of tiny fellers, their heads coming up to my chin. Hey! Eyes up here!! Lurching around on the dance floor, completely disconnected from their feet, which frequently stepped on MY feet. EYES. UP. HERE! And sometimes? I had to go all Sadie Hawkins on them and rush around ASKING them for the privilege of stepping on my feet. AWwwwwwwwFUL! But I got an ‘A’ anyway.
So when Sonny came home on Friday with the whole ripped-my-pants-square-dancing-and-had-to-go-to-the-office-for-more-pants thing, having had my OWN horrific public dancing experience in school, I was completely prepared to sympathize and empathize with how horrible the situation must have been.
I asked him what happened, how on EARTH he could have split his pants square dancing?! He replied, “I was dancing by myself doing a grand finale splits move at the end. And then my pants split.”
Hmmm…this explains EVERYTHING. Why you were dancing alone; why your pants split; and why I don’t feel sorry for you afterall. I empathize with the music teacher instead. And you deserve whatever grade you get in her class. Now go change your pants.