You May Call Me Mistress Twirl

May 3, 2011

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I dominated the twirl.

You might not remember – it was many years ago now.

But once upon a time I was a young girl at Meadowland Elementary and I would spend recess twirling.

Oh, not every day.

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I didn’t want to overuse my gift.

Even so young, I recognized it would be fleeting.

Like life and drinks left in a work refrigerator.

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Yet on those days I graced the schoolyard with my twirl it was a sight to see.

Not just my form.

My duration.

But especially impressive was my lack of nausea.

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We all have a talent.

Some of you can play a musical instrument.

Some can put together an internal combustion engine.

Some can murder a man with impunity.

I’m not here to judge whose talents are better than others.

Though I am quite envious of people who can play an instrument.

(Teach me?)

(If possible, I’d prefer to learn the harmonica.)

(If that’s out, is the kazoo still a thing?)

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As Anna and I flailed through this field, I recalled my twirling talent.

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When trespassing, always run flail-style.

That’s the second rule of trespassing.

The first is always wear a ballgown.

(Trespassing is classy business.)

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While my gift has long passed, my love of the twirl lives on.

So much so that I still force my friends to join me in a twirl every now and then.

Sure, there’s an inherent risk of vomiting and grass stains.

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But the twirl party lives on.

I’m always on the look out for new nicknames,

Megan

You May Call Me Mistress Twirl

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