It's Sports Day tomorrow. I think I'll throw on some tight jeans to get out of the 100 metre dash. I don't really like to sweat; least of all in front of colleagues and students who already look at me like a giant sasquatch. I will not satisfy their perverse curiosity by bouncing my C cups down the track like Bo Derek on the beach.
It has suddenly grown very hot and humid. Summer, full throttle. I realized last year that Tom's of Maine wasn't going to cut it through the humidity of Japan. My giant pit stains weren't making me any friends. Neither was my poodle hairdo. Time to pin the bangs back before my old nickname finds me again. No, I will not reveal it. But Leslie Lane can take the credit of coining it on that humid trip to Florida in 1987. Names will never hurt me, eh?
2 comments:
You said it, sister. My first sports day they had me participate in the jumprope contest. I was torn between crossing my arms in front of my chest whilst jumping and just letting them fly- hopefully poking someone's eye out. In the end, it's a tough call.
Tom is a chump. Tom of Maine, that is. He let me down today. And the students within range of my pits suffered because of it.
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