June 23, 2008 at 3:47 PM | Posted in Journal | 1 Comment
  Detroit doesn’t remember how excited she was, how enthusiastically she responded, when I asked her if she wanted to take Tai Chi.  "Are you sure?"
  "Yes!  Yes!  Ever so yes!"
  And so I signed us both up.
  It’s a Continuing Education Class, which means it’s for old people.  For the summer session, so the time is truncated.  Truncated, hell–cut in half.  Eight weeks instead of sixteen.  And we were going to miss the first class because we were out of town.  I contacted the instructor to make sure it was okay before I even signed us up for the class.
  So we arrive last Tuesday evening for the second class, which was our first.  About a dozen of us?  Or only ten?  Nine?  Don’t remember.  Don’t care.  A bunch of old ladies (including Detroit), me, and a young closeted gay man.  He may not know it yet, but he is.  When he comes out, he’s going to be miffed that it’s not a shock to everyone he knows.
  We await with baited breath the arrival of our instructor, while two of the older [ladies] spew at great length their own personal experience, blah blah blah.  When I get old, I’m going to be an obnoxious know-it-all too.  One woman, I never caught her name, keeps taking the class over and over and over.  And over.  She doesn’t get the idea that once you take it, you’re supposed to do it on your own, retard.  But she is about a hundred and forty seven years old, give or take, so maybe she forgets.
  As she held forth, Detroit and I went to the marker board for a game of Hangman.  After 45 minutes, no instructor.  What the fuck?  Everyone left.  I thought the next day I might call…but I realized the old biddy busy-body would take care of that for us.
  Sure enough, the next week (this week) we got a call on our machine.  New instructor, and a lame excuse for the previous one leaving.  Whatevah.  I have to drag a reluctant and lazy Detroit to the class.  She’s kicking and screaming.  She don’t wanna.  She don’t hafta.  I’m not the boss of her.
  I don’t care, yes she does, and yes I am.  A paddling will do her good.  She quiets down to a whimper.
  The new instructor is there, some chick.  Or rather, a middle aged woman of indeterminant origin and exotic accent.  We do the class.  Again, there are about eight or nine of us there.  The closeted gay white man is gone, or else he’s in drag as a young black girl.  Whatever suits your lifestyle, dude.  Or dudess.
  We do the class.  As we leave, Detroit says, "Well, you’re lucky I like her."  Meaning she’ll go to the class.  Like a belligerent teen that has to be convinced to try something new, and then she acts like it’s her idea.  She is so sweet.

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  1. YOU\’RE AN ASS HOLE!!!!but I loves ya anyway   🙂

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