So yesterday morning we took the children to a Girl Scout event held at a local park. It was called “Fairy Myst” and the girls got to make their own fairy crowns, wands, and houses. There were snacks and they all got some pretty high-quality fairy wings too. It was kind of awesome.
The second best part of it was a song they sang as an icebreaker while waiting for girls to arrive. It was called “Wiggalo” and went something like so:
Hey hey Betsy!
Hey hey Betsy!
Show us how you Wiggalo!
With my hands up high and my feet down low, this is how I Wiggalo! (throws hands up high, then points to feet, then performs movement or gesture)
Wig, wig, wiggalo! Wig, wig, wiggalo! With her hands up high and her feet down low, this is how she Wiggalos! (everyone throws hands high, points at feet, performs movement)
My kid, the oldest, had that deer in the headlights look at first, but got into it before too long. Rhonda’s oldest was grumpy and stated that she would refuse to participate because it was embarrassing, but we more or less forced her to take a turn. When it was time to present a movement, she blew a raspberry. It was completely delightful that without missing a beat they all went, (shrug), Okay! and raspberried right back. And thusly was she assimilated.
Rhonda had to actually get a good grip on the youngest and put her through the motions like a puppet, but once everybody sang and wiggled her wiggle she loosened up a bit (pun probably intended, knowing me).
But that was only the second best part, because the best part of course involved me injuring myself doing something stupid. Because me.
I had raced home to fetch something we left behind and as I returned to the park I got a work call. I was hanging up the phone and checking that it was really hung up, because I have the stupidest phone ever. It likes to make me think that I’ve hung up, so that the party to whom I was speaking gets to hear anything humiliating that I might feel compelled to do once I believe I’m safely off the phone.
Naturally I wasn’t really looking at where I was going, so the humiliating thing I felt compelled to do was to walk straight into a thick, heavy metal cable strung around the shrubbery in lieu of what any normal person might construct, i.e. a solid, visible fence.
I hit this thing going full bore as I hurried back to Never Never Picnic Shelter Land, and it hit me a few inches above the left knee, effectively stopping me in my tracks.
Also I nearly performed a head-plant over it, but managed to prevent this by windmilling my arms and cursing loudly and repeatedly, which is my default response to painful accidents. (I once wrecked my bicycle at the east end of the Hawthorne Bridge, and the good Samaritan who helped me up and dragged my bike out of the path of traffic was treated to some really, really interesting language. Sorry, nice lady!)
Fortunately nobody was near enough to have their ears blistered, and I’m fairly sure nobody witnessed this brilliant act either because the picnic shelter has a big high wall at the end facing my location. There weren’t that many other people around because it was a misty, breezy morning and all normal people were probably at home watching TV.
Naturally this forces me to confess the incident to both of you, dear reader(s).
I was left with a stripe of puffy, swollen bruise running across my leg above my knee. It happens to be in exactly the right place for The Lovely Rhonda to poke and/or punch me if I say something insulting when we’re in the car. She likes to arrive places quickly so she usually drives, because I am boring and old and drive sensibly. So she’s usually sitting to my left and if I am bothersome to her, she jabs at me in exactly that one spot on my leg which is now painfully bruised. I only wish this stopped me from saying insulting things as we drive, but no, and nor does it prevent her from jabbing or poking.
I think I’ll drive for the next couple of weeks.