At volleyball practice yesterday, the coach pulled The Teeanger aside to tell her how disappointed she was that The Teenager hadn't kept the team's spirit up during the last match at Saturday's scrimmage; she depends on The Teenager to be her cheerleader.
Oh, really?
Last time I checked, my daughter had gone out for the volleyball team, not the (non-existent) cheerleading squad. And, trust me; if the school
had a cheerleading squad, and if The Teenager wanted to be on that squad, she'd
be on that squad. Because, I may not know my way around the volleyball court but, by God, I can throw a Herkie like no one's fucking business, and the apple didn't fall far from the tree.
The Teenager told the coach pretty much the same thing (Apple. Tree) which went over about as well as one might expect, and, while I did put forth the requisite lecture about respecting one's elders, teachers, coaches, etc., my heart wasn't really in it, because, at this point; I'm as frustrated with this whole situation as The Teenager must be.
It really is too bad that the school doesn't have a cheerleading squad; I could tell them exactly where to put the Spirit Stick.
Ready... OKAY!
Clap, clap.
You're gonna have to get the coaches head out of the way before that stick goes where it's intended.
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