Oompa loompas scare the shit outta me. Seriously. Nothing terrifies me more than a midget with jaundice and a green afro with his overalls on backwards. There has only been ONE thing that frightened me more, and that was my Kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Craft. The woman was a scrunchie-wearing monster. I didn't even know scrunchies came in that many colors. She was mean with obnoxiously squinty eyes, so squinty that when she looked into the sun it looked as if she didn't even HAVE eyes. Just slits. Slits for eyes is a terrifying image for a 5-year-old. As a Kindergartner, I went through a phase where I took a really, really long time to finish my assignments. It's not that I was dumb, (coloring sheets don't really require many brain cells), I just liked to take my time, that's all. Call me a perfectionist.
"Natasha, why does it take you SO long to finish ONE assignment?"
"I want it to look really extra pretty for you, Mrs. Craft."
"You can tell me the REAL reason tomorrow. Go sit down."
"Yes, bitch. I mean, Mrs. Craft."
(That's not what I said, it's what I SHOULD have said.)
So I sat across from the exact same boy everyday. Assigned seats, of course. And everyday, not only would he sit there and continuously pick his nose, he would pick his nose and EAT whatever appeared on the tip of his disgusting little finger. (or fingerS, he did at least have the courtesy to alternate) So one day, I decided enough was enough.
"Billy picks his nose and eats it."
"Well that's really gross. Why don't you do your work instead of stare at Billy? Then maybe you'd get something done for a change."
"Can I change seats?"
So there was another phase I went through. I give the credit of this peculiar phase to all the PG-13 and R-rated movies I was allowed to watch as a child. This was the phase of the Horny Kindergartner. I had a crush on this boy, see? And in movies, when two people like each other, they kiss, right? So I got into the habit of getting up from my seat, running across the room to where he sat, and kissing him, then running back to my seat. This happened sporadically throughout the day. I was able to continue this process of the kiss-and-run because not only was I extremely fast, but I was also extremely sly, making sure to plant a wet on on ol' Wilson when Mrs. Craft was not looking. He didn't mind, he would just say, "Hey guys! Did you see THAT?" to whoever was near. Another thing I noticed in movies was that all the pretty girls wore bras. So, of course, I asked my mom to buy me a bra. I started wearing it to school, which was totally appropriate since really the "bra" she had bought me was merely a piece of cloth with straps, and I decided one day that I would show Wilson my lacy lingerie. (It was time to take our relationship to the next level.) I made sure to sit by him when we did our weekly "sit Indian style and sing the alphabet" routine, and while all those other suckers were humming the letter 'D', I saw this as my golden opportunity.
"Pssssst! Wilson! LOOK!"
I pulled down the front of my shirt and showed him the upmost part of the brassiere where cleavage is usually bared, but what person who wears sneakers that light up when you step and has to climb to get on the toilet seat has cleavage? Wilson smiled, eagerly replying:
And Wilson also took the courtesy to pull down the front of HIS shirt, revealing a chest where chest HAIR is usually bared, but what person who has their name written on their underwear and refers to the men's room as the "Winkie Room" has chest hair? But it was nice of him to return the favor. And after our singing was done and we all scurried back to our seats and to our glitter glue, Mrs. Craft calls my name. She's sitting at her desk, hands folded together, and she was glaring at me, letting off the whole 'slits for eyes' image once again. Terrifying. I approach the slits and the woman behind them, and she says:
"What do you do to Wilson?"
"I don't do anything to him, Mrs. Craft."
"I saw you, Natasha."
"I was just showing him my new bra that my mommy bought me. But he showed me his, too! He just didn't have anything there."
"That's not what I was talking about. I saw you kiss Wilson."
"Oh, that? I do that all the time! That's what you do to someone you want to marry."
"You shouldn't be wearing a...a uhhh...I'm going to call your mother."
"Okay, Mrs. Craft."
"And stop harassing Wilson or I'm telling the principal."
"Okay, Mrs. Craft."
"Now go sit down and for the love of God keep your shirt on."
"Yes, Mrs. Craft. I'm sorry."
...sorry you're such a bitch.