(A series of texts during the Spring Formal I was chaperoning last night.)
Ryan: Did you bring your ruler, so you can measure if there’s room for the Holy Spirit?
Me: If I sent you pictures of the way these girls were dressed, you’d send Morgan to a convent before she hits puberty. I need a yard stick.
Ryan: What is your exact job at this thing, if they’re letting them in half-naked?
Me: It seems to be me walking around, using a flashlight as a method of birth control.
(Thirty minutes later.)
Me: Goddammit! I was right in the middle of the throng, and a fucking Beyonce song came on…
Ryan: That’s going to be the weirdest Worker’s Comp claim in the history of man.
Me: So…much…flailing…
(An hour later…)
Me: We should have made a High School Dance Bingo card for this thing.
Ryan: Has their been an awkward dance battle, yet?
Me: Check. And now two guys have their ties tied around their head.
Ryan: That’s a corner piece. You’re one girl crying in the corner, from a Bingo.
(five minutes later)
Me; BINGO!!!
Ryan: Congrats. The prize is that you have to call her mother.
Me: Fuck!
Fisticuffs and Shenanigans 