Q is taking a "Giggle Toes" class at The Little Gym. It's 15 minutes of Tap, 15 minutes of Ballet, and 30 minutes of playing in the big gym with things like the air track, uneven bars, balance beam, etc. The problem is that I'm usually the only adult male in the place. So I hear the mothers complaining about their husbands, inlaws, etc. There's two ways to go here, I could be Tommy or I could be Standford, Carrie Bradshaw's gay sidekick. I prefer to be Tommy. Last week, the self confessed redneck, after describing her rural upbringing, went on about how she was a debutante and that men who can dance are worth their weight in gold. Um Yeah, where's my pinball machine again? This week, Grandma, who showed up late, informed me that when the children are ready, they can bring their shoes in with them to the Tap Class and they can switch to their ballet shoes themselves. I have eyes, and have an intelligence above that of the common housefly; so yes, I see that. I asked Q and she didn't want to bring them in with her, so I caveman grunt at Grandma. Then Grandma asked me if Q knew how to tie her shoes. The ballet shoes slip on...NO NEED TO TIE THEM. So again, I caveman grunt at Grandma. The redneck and her friend were going on about their rigorous tennis training and who is not following it, and who has a more powerful (backhand/serve/whatever). Then later as the teacher described the dance steps they worked on with the students, the mothers followed along while complaining how rusty they were...How come you can never find a pinball machine when you need one? To add insult to injury, on the way home from the gym today, I got dusted by a mommy in a minivan about two miles from Q's school. Now, my Cavalier isn't a hot rod, but I was revving it out in each gear; which is to say, I was moving along at a good clip. Mommy-O passed me like I was standing still. She ended up directly in front of me on line at Q's school and I noticed that she had an infant seat in the back.
"Mommy-O Andretti"
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