I did not like carrying the pom-poms.

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

I know several guys that don’t like holding their wives’ purses. Apparently, it’s akin to holding a bleeding tampon between your teeth. Apparently, people will laugh and point. Apparently, you are announcing to the world that you wish you had a vagina. Apparently.

Me, I don’t mind. Hell, I don’t mind buying my wife her feminine hygiene products either. They’re obviously not for me. So what? Big deal. Who cares?

But I did not like carrying the pom-poms.

My four-year old daughter was in a parade this last weekend in our small town. She is taking a cheerleader class for pre-schoolers, and as part of the class, every time there’s a parade (and there’s many, many parades here), her class gets to march in it.

My wife works for the day care that offers the class, and as such, volunteered to help with the parade. She would be the adult that walked with the fifteen little kids, who were cheering their little hearts out.

I got to be the photographer. A regular Jimmy Olsen, I was.

I got bored with waiting near the judge’s booth for the parade to start, and had slowly wandered down from my post to the parking lot that the pre-schoolers were standing in, waiting to get into the parade. Since they were pre-schoolers, and therefore have much shorter legs, they didn’t start the parade with the rest of the parade, but jumped in part way through, and jumped out before the end.

I found my wife and daughter, and my wife was in a panic. There were not enough pom-poms. One little girl short, in fact. My wife had been given a bag of pom-poms from her boss, who gave her too few. There were extra pom-poms to be had, but they were in a golf cart about four blocks away. My wife was knee deep in pre-schoolers and couldn’t leave.

It broke my heart to think of one little girl with no pom-poms while the rest had pom-poms, so I volunteered to go get the pom-poms.

You can see where this is going. The thread title gives it away. It didn’t occur to me, though, until I was almost at the beginning of the parade.

I would have to carry pom-poms all the way back.

Still, I steeled myself, found the golf cart, talked to the boss, and was asked “What color?” What color? Does it even freakin’ matter? These are pom-poms and four-year-olds, for Christ’s sake. You can give them the ugliest lime green pom-poms ever made, and they will still wave them to beat hell.

Apparently it did matter to them, so I got not one set, but two. A big bunch of pom-poms. I forced the handles of the pom-poms into one hand, and set off back through the crowded streets. Just me and my pom-poms.

Now, I realize that when I hold my wife’s purse, people aren’t pointing and laughing. But believe me, people will point and laugh if you are a 6 foot, two inch, 200 pound man walking down the street with pom-poms.

I didn’t shake them. I didn’t allow my arm to swing to and fro with the damned things. No, I just adopted a steely gaze, and walked with my arm rigid, hoping that people would ignore me. But they didn’t. Oh, they didn’t ignore me in droves. People actually stopped walking to stare at the guy with the pom-poms.

Then, the other bad thing happened. The parade started, and I had to cross the street.

I tried walking faster, but the pom-poms would make their little pom-pom noise. As it was, I was only pacing the parade.

“Hey, nice pom-poms. They match your hat,” one wag sneered. I realized that my red hat was almost the same color as the pom-poms. I began to run.

I had to run across the street in front of the parade to get to the other side. So everyone saw me.

I kept hearing “pom-poms” in people’s conversations. People literally would laugh out loud when they saw the pom-pom guy. One group of older woman smiled at me, complimenting me on my pom-poms and asked where I got them.

I decided to be pro-active. I told one group, who had just started to smile, “these aren’t my pom-poms.” They laughed and laughed.

I finally made it back to the parking lot and gave the pom-poms to my wife. Guess what? They were all the wrong color.

But my wife didn’t care. The little girl that got them didn’t care. And the other little girl who arrived late and would’ve been pom-pom-less if I hadn’t brought an extra set of pom-poms didn’t care.

And a good time was had by all. Except for me. I did not like carrying the pom-poms.

2

You’re a good dad.

Thanks for sharing a great story.

3

*sniggers

4

AWWWW!!

They were admiring the extreme confidence you have in your masculinity that allowed you to carry pom-poms down a parade route!

5

I’d like to think so, but I rather think that they were amused by a large guy like me carrying pom-poms with a rather surly expression on his face. I’m sure I didn’t look like I was having much fun.

6

Perhaps you should have gone up to them, stare them directly in the eyes and say, “Cheer, mother f****er! NOW!”

7

Man, I really wish I’d have thought of that.

8

I opened this thread thinking it would be from a female Doper talking about Breast reduction surgery.

Oh well, been wrong before.

You are a good Dad.

9

It’s hard to be a good dad, sometimes.
(and know that they loved them… 'cause when you’re 4, pom poms are cooler than anything. Actually, when you’re 17 and pretending that you’re way too cool for them, and they’re a nuisance and a burden, pompoms are still pretty neat)

10

Don’t be afraid to make an ass of yourself. It’s fun.

11

Hear hear. As spoken by the guy who wore a Tigger-themed Santa hat on top of an authentic chain-mail headpiece, leather arm guards, three strings of Mardi-Gras beads, a Hello Kitty t-shirt and high heels to Kroger and Wal-Mart to buy my mom a pack of smokes and some spray paint, because she said I wouldn’t do it.

The cashier at Kroger carded me for the smokes. Brave soul, he was. :slight_smile:

12

Hell, I wish I had a vagina…girl included of course :stuck_out_tongue:

But a heck of a Bravo! from me for doing that. It’s much more manly to be able to do something like that than wuss out and pretend it would pussify you.

And Roland…

::clap:: ::clap:: ::clap:: ::clap:: ::clap::

All that has to be said. I’d clap some more but my hands are still sore from my own “self-assing”

13

Thinking? More like hoping, I suspect.

14

Maybe I’m not the best data point, considering how I spent most of last night with a former drag queen teaching me to shake it like I just don’t care, but if people were staring at you anyway, why not launch into “2! 4! 6! 8! Who do we appreciate!”

15

Dude, you need to get in touch with your perky side.

16

As a step-father to a young pom-pom-er, I have been in a similar situation. Rushing through a crowd with brightly-colored poms, trying to reach a desperate child in time. But I turned the situation around a bit, shaking the poms and having fun. In front of one group of high school slackers that were snickering, I broke out into a cheer:

“Rah Rah, Sis-Boom-Bah!
Kick 'em in the head,
Punch 'em in the jaw!
Wheeeeeeeee!”

Well, I got a kick out of it!

17

Siddhartha Vicious,

You carried Pom Poms?!

Geez, why don’t you just put on a dress next time?

Seriously, I think it was probably funnier that you HATED carrying the Poms than the actual carrying. Anyone who was thinking, “That guy is running around looking for a man of his own.” has some serious issues to work through.

18

It takes a ***REAL * ** man to carry pom-poms well! :smiley:

19

I think the shocking thing here wasn’t what you were wearing, but rather what you weren’t … no pants or even a skirt were mentioned in the description of your outfit. :eek:

20

Every time I try to picture a large grown man gingerly carrying pom-poms and trying to look like he really doesn’t enjoy it, I have to laugh.

In a good way, of course. But you probably unknowingly made yourself look even funnier. :stuck_out_tongue: