A Part-time Pole Dancer
It was back to school today after two weeks of not having to be out the door before ten am. I gave the pep talk to the young fellow all the way to school about having a good week and listening to his teacher. Dropping him off, I felt quietly confident that he’d taken on board what I’d said. The hours whizzed by and three o’clock rolled round, and as I made my way to his class, a helpful Miss waltzed past me and said, “Daniel’s getting told off.” I love the way kids always announce things like that in the hearing of other parents whose children never put a foot wrong. I popped my head into his class to find out what he’d been up to. Turns out when his teacher asked for examples of different dance styles he put his hand up and said pole dancing. Great, I thought thinking back to last term’s misdemeanours, so now his teacher has good cause to think I use bad language and pole dance part-time. Yes, I know my core would let me down were I to attempt anything with a pole and that it’s not about me. There's just something about standing in front of the teacher that takes one right back to their school days though. Anyway, promising her he would have a better day tomorrow I marched him out of school. “How do you even know what pole dancing is?” I asked him. “Everybody knows what it is Mum. Duh, it’s dancing around a pole.” I huffed and puffed. “It’s dancing around a pole in next to nothing which is not appropriate to bring up in class.” He looked horrified. “What? They dance naked?” So, he didn’t actually know what pole dancing was. He’d said it in innocence hoping to get a laugh but thanks to number one mummy he's now well briefed in the art form of pole dancing.