Because I was invited. That’s why.
When Stacie, the middle sister called and said, “Hey. Forgot to tell you you’re invited to go with a group of us tonight to the Texas Roller Derby Girls downtown…you’re going right?”
“HELLZ YEAH!” was about the only thing that came to mind. And out of my mouth.
(Well, that and “Should I not bathe so I don’t stand out in the crowd?” but I held back because well, she would have ripped that invite right out of my mouth if I considered not bathing.)
(And I was going.)
(And let’s face it: I can be a little white trashy-ish when it’s called for.)
(OK. A lot.)
We met with friends beforehand for a bite to eat then headed to the big….place. I don’t really know what it was. Maybe an arena? A big skating round ramp thing?
(Remember back when wrestling was on TV late at night and your mom told you not to watch but you went in your room and acted like you were asleep and watched anyway because you were not about to have anyone tell you what you could and could not watch when you were 8?)
(Yeah. I didn’t either.)
(But that’s what it reminded me of. Those big old dirty, crusty arena places where the wrestling dudes hung out.)
The crowd was pretty awesome. Lots of hair. Lots of it. On chins. Faces. Backs. Arms. Feet. Places I really didn’t know hair could/would/should be.
And yeah, some of the men had long beards.
And everybody had ink. Again…in places ink really doesn’t need to be.
There was so much hair and so much ink, I heard myself ask no one in particular, out loud, “What the hell do these people do Monday through Friday?”
(Stacie shot me a look and told me to shut my mouth and to stop being so loud. She apparently wasn’t in the mood to rumble.)
Once they hyped up the crowd and the girls hit the rink…I was in.
I almost had Stacie convinced that we could totally do this by the time the 2nd quarter hit.
(Or inning. Or bout…whatever it was called. I’m not sports freak. Obviously.)
I liked the cute little costumes and while I will admit, it’s been years since I’ve been on roller skates…I could probably whip myself around that rink as long as I stayed close to the railing and kept my arms out-stretched and well, just rolled.
No push-offs, no shoving, no ducking. Just rolling.
She said we’d be the only damn ones to ever do it while clutching the rails, ducking and screaming “Don’t hit me, don’t hit me!” and working our arms more by pulling on the rails than our legs by actually skating.
(She could be kinda right. She usually is.)
(Though I do get miserably and embarrassingly competitive at times. And by “at times” I mean “anytime I do anything that in the end has a winner.”)
(And heaven help any bitch who blew by and I ended up with smeared lipstick or a broken fingernail. Totally game-on at that point.)
And they all had pretty coolish-ly badass names.
Like…Dusty Double Wide.
(Uh, huh. I know.)
Anyway, it was a really great time and I was able to let out some of my white trashiness in the proper setting while realizing I have a long way to go before I can really hang with the real white trashiness of the world.
(Which I’m a bit unsure of just how that makes me feel. Cause I’ve worked hard to perfect that. Years of work.)
Stacie though, is elated. She can keep her roller skates in her closet just a little bit longer.
Or at least until I can find me one of those sparkly red, white and blue costumes anyway.