I was a pre-teen Olympian

Okay so just the other day I was griping about Daisy Scouts. And seriously, I actually like the Daisies as an organization. I just have no desire to participate.

But I must have forgotten all about my other fun little girl activity, gymnastics. This is way worse than Daisies on the “Daddy Would Rather Die” chart.

Once a week I morosely pull in to the parking lot of Gymnastics Village, in Amherst New Hampshire. Amherst of one of those cute little towns in Southern NH that is overrun by rich white yuppies from Massachusetts. So, about 95% of the vehicles in the Gymnastics Village parking lot are Yukons, Expeditions, or those SUVs that Volvo and BMW make. I drive a Scion xA. Last I checked, having two children did NOT mean that you need a fucking cargo vessel to move them and all their crap around. Nor do you ALL need to have those retarded soccer ball stickers on the back window. Trust me; the world knows you’re a soccer mom. For real.

One time last year, someone tagged all the cars in the parking lot with stickers that said “This SUV Fueled By Dead Iraqis”. Fucking brilliant! Especially since my hyper-fuel-efficient hatchback was left alone. Ha-ha Ladies. Ha-ha. I’m a far stretch from being a dirt worshipping tree hugger, but I’d be happier if these folks were a bit more aware of the impact their lifestyles have on the planet. But they’re more ignorant than evil really.

So anyway, gymnastics. Since taking over as Mr. Mom at home I’ve begun bringing my work to Gym World and getting a little done while Widget works the uneven bars and picks at her leotard wedgies. For a while this worked fine. The Moms were happy to ignore me –I didn’t want to talk about Longaburger Baskets or family outings to the Islands. We do have the common ground of being parents, but if I don’t initiate the conversation there won’t be one.

But lately, a couple Moms have started taking an interest in my work. Man is THAT weird. Even weirder is they seem to think its really cool. Which is the opposite of how their husbands (the various doctors, dentists, etc. of this area) react. Those guys usually get strangely angry with me. “You can make a living doing that?”

Well, no, not what you would consider a living. I can keep a roof over my head though. It makes me wonder. We don’t have much –hell, we barely have enough to scrape by. But I’ve never been so happy. I love my work. The thought of leaving it to go on a vacation or something is almost traumatic to me. Why the hell would I want to go to Disney World? I mean, can I bring a gun, or some TNT strapped to my body? No. So what’s the point? My work is WAY more entertaining than organized fun for the idiot masses. Still, I would look good driving a Beemer . . .

Anyway, back to the Village of GymStink. Oh, did I mention that at the best of times it reeks like a men’s locker room? Oh hell yeah. And that’s at the best of times. In high summer its like a goddamned abattoir. Its not just little kids here, but young adults. And let me tell you, the female body is capable of producing some funk that would put the greasiest of man things to shame. Its like walking through a jello mold of HolyFuckWhatDied!?!

Dirty little monkeys.

Its strange, the people I come into contact with because of Widget. Most of them are fine. They live lives that are totally alien to me, as mine is to them. And that’s okay. At heart they are decent folk. I just wish they’d realize how redonkulous customized sports stickers with their bratty kid’s names on them looked on their SUVs.

PS: on the plus side, Assistant Adult Mom from Daisy Scouts is also part of the Gymnastics Village gang. I like her. She’s crazy. She’s also Canadian –which means she looks at most Americans with the eye of an anthropologist. It can be funny.