You May Call Me Mistress Twirl

May 3, 2011


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.


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.


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.


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?)


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


When trespassing, always run flail-style.

That’s the second rule of trespassing.

The first is always wear a ballgown.

(Trespassing is classy business.)


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.


But the twirl party lives on.

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


You May Call Me Mistress Twirl

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