Unicorns = Good. Horses = Bad. It's Basic Math.
There is really only one proper way to celebrate a state's centennial, and that's by dressing up like characters from Little House on the Prairie and standing around outside staring at horses. Or, at least that was the standing theory at Nedrose Elementary School in North Dakota. It was "Western Week," a weak attempt at honoring the state's history by spending lots of time talking about Indians and Louis and Clark and Sacajawea and, well, horses. Horses. Otherwise known as the most evil creatures ever invented.
There was a bite in the air, as is often the case when you're that far north, but that didn't stop me from standing outside wearing a short-sleeved dress. It was an ankle-length purple and white-checked mess that my mom had made for me when I was the gift bearer in my cousin's wedding. Two thoughts on that: 1. GIFT BEARER? WTF? When you have to start assigning cousins to that job, it's time to consider whether or not you need to be having such a big wedding. Or maybe I'm just looking at the whole thing with 20/20 vision and wondering how much money was wasted on gifts for a wedding that was essentially the beginning of the end of the relationship. But, anyhooo . . . 2. Any dress made for a wedding probably shouldn't be suitable for "Western Week." Like, really.
Anyway, I stood outside wearing the awful purple and white-checked dress. The entire school was there, all 200 students lining the gravel driveway where the five school busses would sit in just a few short hours. We watched as a local woman adorned in a long blue skirt, white shirt, and tan apron explained how the pioneers used horses and wagons and blah, blah, blah. Let's be honest--I didn't really care. At all. I wanted to skip the dog and pony show and go play some soccer. And, yet, she rambled on, even going so far as to demonstrate how to saddle a horse and tie it to a wagon.
ZZzzzZzzzzZzzzz.
I guess at least it wasn't class.
Except that I was a nerd and would have much preferred to be inside learning about math or something.
Anyway, as the demonstration wound down, each class was encouraged to walk around the horses and wagons and check out the super-authentic set-up. Again, ZzzzZZzzzz, but I was a good little sheeple, so I followed instructions and began walking around the back of the first wagon.
And then it happened.
I stepped in something warm. And stinky. And mushy.
Horse poop.
It was all over my right shoe and, oh, did I mention that I was wearing a pair of clear jelly shoes? Remember the ones that were sort of basket-patterned and had holes all over them? Yes, THOSE.
As the horse poop oozed its way into my shoe, under my foot, and between my toes, I was MORTIFIED. I looked around as fast as I could, my head turning faster than Linda Blair's in the Exorcist, and silently prayed that no one had noticed. The only thing worse than ending up with horse poop on your foot is ending up with horse poop on your foot and having your entire fourth grade class know about it.
Jason stood 20-feet away, staring at me. He had witnessed the entire thing.
The good news was that Jason was one of the Kind Souls. He was one of the kids who was just as likely to get picked on as me, so he was never the one to initiate any sort of mockery. He continued to stare and I finally recognized that his eyes were telling me to run away before anyone else could take note.
I turned as fast as I could and began to run inside the school. I realized that my long dress was partially hiding the horror that was poop and partially digested hay and whatever else oozing from my shoe, so I slowed and tried to act a bit more casual. I was just going to the bathroom real quick. Yeah, that was it.
I made it to the empty bathroom just outside of the gymnasium without running into anyone. A miracle! I'm sure there was a trail of poopy footprints all down the stairs and hall, but that wasn't the most important thing in my life at the moment. I carefully lifted my foot into the sink and began the arduous task of trying to rinse off the disaster.
Half a roll of paper towels and several gallons of water later, I thought I had the situation under control. I began to try to conceal the paper towels in the trash when BAM! the bathroom door burst open.
In walked our school's version of The Mean Girls.
They immediately burst into laughter as they pointed and mocked and called me a vast assortment of creative names, each and every one of them involving the word, "poop."
The names continued for the rest of the school year.
And that is why I hate horses. Until they learn to poop rainbows and glitter like unicorns, I want nothing to do with them.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Reader Comments (8)
I'm sorry. May the mean girls someday be pooped on in a public place while wearing jelly shoes. Revenge would be sweet!
Just think, all the Mean Girls are probably in loveless marriages and are secretly disappointed in their children. And they're probably having an affair with the Ranch Hand.
That sounds horrible all around. I have a post written (in paper, not on my blog), about bullying. Since this goes so well, I'm going to try and post it sometime today, and link to this post.
Sorry you had such a rough time in school, but like the previous commenters said, I'm guessing those girls are very unhappy adults, and you are successful, happy, and have a ton of friends.
Give horses another chance! It wasn't their fault! ;)
OMG you win!! I will never again mock the horse-hate. Ever. <shudder>
lemme get this straight...you hate horses because you stepped in some shit, but you don't hate twitter and the internet, but we all know how much shit is out there! you are a nut.
Michelle! How can you can yourself a North Dakotan by birth when you can't spell Sakakawea correctly!
OMG. that's...that's...that's...ICKY.
{i only removed my hand from my mouth long enough to type this. excuse while i go vomit now.}