A shank, a shiv or Screech?


Today I was a chaperone on my daughter’s field trip to see The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (musical theater). I know. Very scary. The darkness, suspense and all the screaming. I didn’t mean to frighten the children with my presence. Aside from myself, there were some things I felt were a bit scary and frightening.

First, on the way out to the buses, I heard a child ask a woman if she was so and so’s mom (I know the names, but it aint your business). The mom replied, “Yes, but we’re really best friends”. So then, she gave her daughter a big squishy hug. Now, the hug was doable, but the best friend crap……ugh! If you’ve been following my blog (all 9 of you), I think you know how I feel about spouses being best friends. Parents and children aren’t much better. I drink with my best friends. We talk about our relationships, including all the good sex stuff. We bitch about whatever the hell we want and we drink some more. Apparently, it’s not illegal to give you child alcohol if they are in your house (my state), but I don’t really want to get drunk with her. How could I feel good about writing shit on her forehead with a sharpie and posting her pics on Facebook and YouTube after she passes out in her own vomit? The answer is: I can’t. At least not without feeling bad. I also don’t want to discuss relationships with her and most definitely not sex. Like I need to give her any ideas. Kids are for hugging, loving, punishing, yelling at and using as labor for a myriad of chores. I don’t think my best buddies would let me abuse them like that. I feel sorry for that mom, she must lead a sad life.  I hope she doesn’t go nuts when her daughter finds a new BFF.

The second frightening thing I heard was a conversation between two female students on the bus. It went something like this:

Girl 1: So what do you think? A shank  or a shiv….

Girl 2: I don’t know, for cutting?

Girl 1: You cut with scissors. I mean (She makes thrusting motion with right hand.) to stab someone.

Girl 2: I don’t  know. What’ the difference?

Girl 1: I don’t know really. I mean to cut and stab…maybe it could go through the bone.

Girl 2: The bone?

Girl 1: I don’t know, which one could, a shank or a shiv?

Girl 2: I don’t know.

This conversation continued in this manner, with similar statements, reaching no end in sight for another 15 minutes or so. This is when I interjected.

Me: (…had Wikipedia (we know how I love that.) on my phone) Girls. You’re killing me Really killing me. Here. Read. They mean the same thing. (I handed the phone to Girl 1.)

Girl 1: (Looking at phone.) So I don’t understand.

Me: This is highly inappropriate, but they are weapons made out of plastic spoons, toothbrushes, or whatever someone in prison can get their hands on. They are used to stab people. Are you two planning on entering any prisons in the near future?

Girl 2: Well………….

Girl 1: Just say yes. Anytime you are asked a question, just say yes.

The two girls continued on with the original debate and conversation for another 5 minutes, until………………………

Girl 1: Can you believe that people bet on whether someone is going to win a card game?

Girl 2: I know.

Girl 1: That is so illegal. I think it is in some countries.

Girl 2: Yeah. Like the United States.

Girl 1: And……..definately Oklahoma.

Finally, the conversation ended due to our arrival at the theater. Everything was going great until the actor playing Ichabod Crane appeared. His voice sounded like Screech on Saved By The Bell and he kept making crazy gyrations and jumping around on stage quite awkwardly. All I could think about was the porn video Dustin Diamond (Screech) made with a supposed bride and her bridesmaid that he released on the internet. He kept referring to his manhood as “The Monster”. Everytime Ichabod spoke on stage, I envisioned Screech talking about  “The Monster”.  The scary part was supposed to be at the end of the play, with the headless horseman being responsible for Ichabod’s disappearance. To me, it was like an appropriate cold shower. Live on headless horseman. Live on.

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