Better to be bitter than glitter

Before I launch into my usual tirade against her, let me first begin with a grudging admission that Erin did a remarkable job letting me go quietly fetal for five months. Consoling and casseroles are not for me. As much as it pained her and went against every instinct that she possesses, Erin knew that the best gift she could give me was letting me crawl into a dark hole to heal. But she can only handle my descent into darkness for so long...I should not have been surprised when she eventually arrived, shovel in hand, to dig me out...braving bared teeth and sharp claws to inform me that I needed to wear my red sparkle shirt to school the next day.

As usual, I reacted in a calm, patient, rational manner and, with gentle, dignified language, communicated to Erin how I felt about her proposition. 

"I can't wait to see you tomorrow!" she clapped happily, each time I passed her in the hall...which is A LOT. I intentionally go the long way to avoid her but still manage to get cornered.

Anticipating my brilliant plan to just ignore her, my phone rang at an unreasonable 6am the following morning. I groaned, burying my head under the pillow. Oh yeah...I knew who it was. The devil herself. SINGING. Oh dear Lord...SINGING. At 6 am.

Fortunately, I am well-versed with my word families and have years of poetic experience in my back pocket so, before I even got out of bed, I sent a little song of my own back:

(Tune of BINGO)

There are 4 letters in my head

That I want to sa-ay...

And they end with "k"

And they end with "k"

And they end with "k"

I wish you'd go away-ay.

I begrudgingly put on the stupid shirt.

I begrudgingly posed for the stupid pictures.

I begrudgingly fended off EVERY smart-alecky comment delivered by students (as young as pre-K, darn their quick wit) and our delightfully sadistic staff.

But by lunchtime, I'd had it. "Why wouldn't I have brought a shirt to change into?" I growled at my other arch-nemesis, Tyler, who had come in to "commiserate." He offered to look for some sort of sporty-type shirt that athletes wear but I was already plowing through every drawer and cupboard in my room, desperate to escape my glittery straight-jacket. "Ah-ha!" I yelled triumphantly, discovering a sarcastic shirt left over from my being-dragged-to -Zumba-against-my-will days. "Are you sure you don't want me to find you a jersey?" Tyler asked dubiously, reading the shirt I held aloft like the finish flag at Talladega. 

Oh...I'm sure.

To subtly get my point across, I stomped into Erin's room and changed there.

She read my shirt as I stood there, smirking.

Tapping one finger thoughtfully against her chin, Erin brightened. "Thanks for reminding me! We really need to start Zumba up again!"

Oh dear Lord.

"Don't worry, Amy! I'll call you!" Erin shouted as I slammed out the door.