Kaitlin perused the report card and saw the ominous N – Needs Improvement – for behavior. All other categories were satisfactory or better, so the issue revolved around something Ellie had done. Snatching crayons? Cutting one of Sylvia’s ridiculously long pigtails with left-handed scissors? Eating glue? Kaitlin peeled the crossword puzzle of S’s and that one damaging N away from the foldout and found a two page letter attached. This letter explained the demise of Ellie’s character through the creation of The Squat Club.
Apparently, The Squat Club was an underground fellowship dedicated to flouting authority and asserting seven year old female independence through the venue of urinating behind certain trees at designated times. Members of this elite society had to participate in this ritual on a regular basis while two other Sisters in Squatting stood guard to protect defenseless buttocks from unscrupulous male eyes and from the discovery of Big Sister. Thanks to a school located in a rural area and a playground surrounded by woods, these renegades had been wreaking havoc on foliage for almost two months. Not to mention the chaos they had caused in the bookkeeping department as the staff pulled tuffs of hair from their scalps and tried to account for the drastic decline in toilet paper usage. It might take months to get the rolls of Angel Soft back on track.
The indictment went on to list the various infractions such a club represented: the direct defiance of authority by the disposal of human fluids in inappropriate areas, the deception perpetrated against teachers and staff all those times the girls were thought to be innocently playing over by the monkey bars, the unconscionable and unhygienic Initiation through Urination hazing, and finally, the establishment of an unsanctioned charter of The Squat Club at a school whose only approved extracurricular social function was the Beta Club. The tone of the correspondence, though never directly posing such a question in print, seemed to scream: What, in the name of all that’s holy, were these girls thinking? Had they no shame and decorum? Had they no ladylike sensibilities? Had they no chigger bites in unseen places to teach them a lesson? No, while the letter never veered from the High Road, the underlying current suggested that society began to crumble the second a female dropped her bloomers and tee-teed behind a bush. The next logical step for these girls was the detonation of nuclear warheads, mass genocide against those living in our glorious nation, and the consumption of more than one Pop-Tart at a sitting. Things were dire indeed.
Kaitlin folded her own personal Watergate and struggled with the laughter threatening to tear its way out of her body.
“Is it bad, Mommy?” a tiny voice queried from the back seat. “I did my best on that math quiz last Tuesday, but I think I forgot to carry the one sometimes.”
“You’ve got a problem with Number One alright, sweetie, but not in the way you think.”
“We’re going to talk about it once we get home tonight. After your dad has seen your report card.” And as Kaitlin related to me, just the thought of the look on his face was enough to keep her cackling on the drive home.
© 2013 – Traci Carver