Wednesday, January 12, 2005

This spring chicken

At skating this morning, I bumbled off of the ice and into the lobby midway through my two hours of ice time to warm up my toes. The rink that I skate at can be painfully frigid and, while I layer my clothes like a fine dish of lasagna to keep my body warm, there isn’t anything that can be done about my toes. High-level figure skates are to be worn with nothing but tights.

And so my toes turn into what may be confused as frozen Vienna sausages. Delicious!

The rink lobby, thank the good Lord Jesus Christ, is kept at a toasty 375°. Perfect not only for a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies, but also for defrosting men, women and children.

On entering the delightful warmth, I fell onto a bench and began furiously wiggling my feet and my toes. Stimulating circulation, you know? It helps.

I looked up from my circulation stimulation (which might have been confused for ants in the pants, a seizure or Tae Bo) and right into the face of a hockey mom.

I was quite curious as to what the fuck she was staring at. I smiled at her.

“Is your district closed today?”



As in school district.

As in “Hello, stranger. You look so much like you belong in high school that, without the slightest bit of hesitation, I will ask you about it. And while we’re chatting, why don’t you tell me about your prom dress, too?”

“I’m, ah, actually, um...I’m done with school.”

I’m not 15, children. I only look it.


Plantation said...

You should have added, "WTF is it to ya anyway?"
PS, u don't look 15.

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