If I never write anything after this post, it's because I'm dead.
All right, that was the slightest bit melodramatic, but it's nevertheless almost true. Almost. Nearly. Oh, fine. I'm over exaggerating. I'm not going to die. However, my choir teacher isn't so happy with me right now.
At lovely Paradigm High School, I'm in the women's audition choir (Bel Canto: population 8). We had our concert earlier this evening, and our teacher, Mrs. Steinmann, decided it would be fun to sing a little Broadway and jazz. Our songs were "Wash that Man Right Outta My Hair" (longest song title ever), "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy," and "Big Spender."
One of the Paradigm's pillars (for want of a better word) is "virtue." (Wisdom, relevance, virtue, yo creo?) Anyhow, Mrs. Johnson (our school director) was a little iffy about "Big Spender" because of the...ehm...nature of the song. Mrs. Steinmann vowed to clean it up, and thusly, she had us dress up as cleaning ladies. My friend Kaitlynn, the second soprano, got a plunger; as an alto, I got stuck with a feather duster. *sighs* At least I got to wear an apron that said "DANGER: Man at Work."
At the end of "Big Spender" on the new cast recording of Sweet Charity, this absolutely smoker-sounding woman says, "Howzabout it, palsie?" Having a low voice and all, I gave it a shot after one of our rehearsals, taking a drag out of my duster. Everyone exploded into laughter, even Mrs. Steinmann. After a while, I cooled it, although I begged the teacher to let me do it in the concert. It went something like this:
Me: "Please, Mrs. Steinmann! It's funny!"
Mrs. Steinmann: "No, Jo! Do you want to get me fired?"
Me: "You won't get fired."
Her: "Yes I will! Mrs. Johnson will have my hide."
Me: "Just tell her you knew nothing about it."
Her: "No. I want you to be SQUEAKY CLEAN."
And so I promised that I would be. Sometimes, though, I have a sprinkling of mischievousness in me. Especially when I get together with Kaitlynn. But anyway, I was NOT planning to do it tonight. NOT NOT NOT. But then my sneaky counterpart came along and said, "Darling, you must do 'Howzabout it, palsie?' Simply must." I said no the first time, I really did. And the second time. And the third time. Et cetera, et cetera. Then Kaitlynn came up and said that our choreographer, Amy, told me that I should totally do it.
Well, that collapsed me. I gave in, and at the end of the song, after the "Yeah," I swaggered down to the piano, placed my hand on the pianist's shoulder and said, "Howzabout it, palsie?" in my smokiest voice, while tickling him with my feather duster. Later accounts (via Kayla) told that Mrs. Steinmann rolled her eyes and put her head in her hands.
After the concert, I just about booked it home so I wouldn't have to face a certain choir teacher. So I'm sort of excited and nervous to see her reaction at school tomorrow.
If I die, I bequeath all my worldly possessions to whoever wins the cage fight. Good luck, one and all.