“Karla! Maryanne! What on earth are you two squalling about?” The rest of the cheerleading squad looked on, keeping some distance from their angry teammates.
Karla thrust out an accusing finger. “She’s not wearing maroon spankies! They’re bluuuue!”
“It’s practice, you moron, not a game,“ Maryanne spat back. “Who gives a crap what color practice spankies anybody wears?”
“It’s called a uniform for a reason, loser!”
Maryanne lifted her cheerleading skirt to show off. “You’re just jealous that I have sparkly blue practice spankies and you only have that dumb old maroon. Moron.” She added another epithet, but under her breath.
Both girls turned to Coach, fists on their hips, confident of a favorable ruling.
“Maryanne, take off your spankies.” Coach held out a hand for them, clearly not going to listen to argument. Karla looked smug and satisfied until she heard, “And Karla, I’ll take yours also.”
Two girls with deep-pink faces tugged their tight spankies off and reluctantly placed them in Coach’s unwavering outstretched hand.
“All right! Let’s hit the field everyone! We’re already late!“
“With — with no —”
“But — but Coach. We — we can’t —”
“Get moving, you two. Or I would be happy to remind you how spankies got that name.”
Bonded by the sudden sisterhood of mutual mortification, the girls scurried off. It turned out to be a very fascinating practice — for Karla and Maryanne were flyers.
— Frenulum
P.S.: practice spankies, practice spankies, practice spankies :o)
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