I'm not a cheerleader. I'm an athletic supporter.

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. 

So, my dream of becoming a cheerleader thwarted, I resumedmy life of obscurity . . . going through my high school days in a cloak ofuncool invisibility. 

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.

So there!