Like many little girls, I wanted to be a cheerleader. Cheerleaders were pretty, got to wear cutelittle outfits, had big fluffy pompoms, they were popular and got to hang outwith the cool kids.
When I got to junior high school I got my chance, I signedup for try-outs. I made up a routineand practiced. Then came the day for thetrials.
It was then that I found out that my evil sister was one ofthe judges. Even so, I thought I stillhad a chance. Riiiiiiight. Okay, so I was deluded.
Anyhoo . . . I did my thing and tried my best. I thought I did pretty well. The panel wasn’t overly impressed with myperformance. I’m sure my evil sister had influenced thembecause it wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that I’m a wee bit clumsyand slightly less than graceful. Of coursenot . . . I blame my evil sister.
Meh . . . who cares? Ididn’t want to be pretty or wear a cute little outfit or lug around big fluffypompoms or be popular or hang around with the cool kids.