Sometimes a day ends like that final lap on the track in P.E. class, where you come limping in behind the people who could actually run, gasping pathetically, stitch burning in your side. Coach Jim is hollering at you to walk it off with your hands up behind your head so you can get plenty of oxygen.
It's like that moment just before you step off the track into the grassy field, bend over, and hurl in front of the cute boys.
And then for the rest of the year you're The Girl Who Puked in P.E.
Some days are like that. If you see me leaving the office with my hands behind my head, that's why.
1 comment:
Okay, I just ended up with a blogger account and new blog when I attempted to leave a comment. And now I can't remember what my comment was . . . Oh yes, when I was in school I wasn't known as "the girl who puked in P.E.," instead I was "the girl who fell down the stairs and ended up with her skirt over her head on the first day of school." The after effects, I am sure, were the same, perhaps worse.
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