Bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy fun fun fun fun fun
This week at our preschool fair, I was thrust into the wild world of oversized inflatables volunteerism. And if I could sum it up in one word it would be this:
I devoted an entire hour to hoisting kids up onto the bouncy platform thing by their feet. Most in socks, but not all. Yep, I touched a whole lot of sweaty children's feet this weekend in the name of fundraising and community spirit.
Most of the kids were delightful. If there is a prize for well-behaved, obedient bouncy castle addicts under 6 with faces painted like superheroes, surely our school takes it by a longshot. (Let's start a trophy case, PTA!) But then there was the 13 year-old who was taller than me. And sweatier. And, it seems, not yet much interested in underarm deodorant. Eau de Teen Boy. Delightful.
When I got home that night I didn't think much of it, except to marvel at how I survived an entire hour in an unventilated classroom with no windows, that had been stuffed quite literally to the ceiling with coated 1000 denier nylon and hot air. But when I plucked my sweater dress off the floor the next morning, it hit me.
Hit me right in the nose, in fact.
Which makes me wonder how many other people that I had interacted with all day were privy to the delightful scent.
Apologies fellow parents. Apologies pizza delivery guy. Apologies Nate.
And that's to say nothing of the yellow spin-art paint that it turns out was all over my back, some of it, oddly, in the same shape and size as a small child's handprint.