The Puma Cheerleaders' Annual Swimmin' Pool Party

Reads: 198  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Every year the cheerleaders have their pool party downtown.

Submitted: January 24, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 24, 2008

A A A

A A A


 
The Puma Cheerleaders’ Annual Swimmin’ Pool Party
 
 
 
 
 
Well, I’m talkin’ on the phone to my publisher the other day ‘bout Scandinavian rights and things, and he pauses like he does sometimes when he’s fixin’ to bring up a delicate subject, like how the environmentalists are makin’ it real hard to denude the all the forests again, or how Barnes and Noble just got a new nonfiction buyer who don’t take bribes, and so I go “What?”
 
“Well,” he says, “I’m wonderin’ ‘bout askin’ y’all, uh, the, er….”
 
“What?” I go.
 
And he hems are haws just like the tailor and the donkey, like he’s got somethin’ to say but he’s too fidgety to say it.
I already know what he’s fixin’ to say, because since people all over the world have been readin’ my stories, they all write to me and ask the same dang thing. 
 
But, you know me, I got to put on airs a lil’ and make him squirm.
 
“Don’t make me go to Wichita again,” I say, winkin’ at the dog, who always gets antsy when the publisher calls me up, figurin’ that if I go on another book tour he’s gonna have to stay with Aunt Mary and Simon again. He don’t like the smoke, and he don’t like the cat, either.
 
“Er, no, it ain’t that,” he goes, and so I go “Good, they got the ugliest women in America in Wichita,” knowin’ full well that his sister lives in Wichita and he cain’t argue with that.
 
“No,” he goes, “eh, um…”
So I decide to put him out of his misery, mainly because I got a good heart, so I say “just spit it out, Bennett.”
 
“Well,” he goes, “I been wonderin’ when y’all are gonna tell about that time…uh…”
 
“When the Puma cheerleaders had they pool party?” 
 
He swallows and goes “Well, it’s not me that wants to know, ha ha, but I got a call from the New York Times Book Review the other day wonderin’ if you was ever gonna talk about it, and he can sell us a whole boatload of books.”
 
“He said my last book was sophomoric, Bennett, why should I do him any favors?”
 
I had to look up sophomoric when I read it that time, and I was mad all day until Bennett sent me a check for ninety thousand dollars for my European sales.Sophomoric, near as I can make out, ain’t good, but shoot, I’ll just worry ‘bout that as I’m relaxin’ in my new sophomoric condo in Cannes, I was thinkin’.
 
Then I looked at the check again and it was nine dollars, so I had to call that fella in Cannes back and put the condo on layaway.
 
“Yes, but,” he goes on, “all your readers want to know, too. You got a responsibility to your dang public, you know.”
 
I have to admit this is true, those sixteen people are important to me, so I go “OK, I’ll get to work on it this afternoon after I go help Aunt Mary get ready for her garage sale.”
 
And Bennett goes, “Er, could you email me with it as soon as y’all’re done?”
 
He ain’t foolin’ me, and neither is the New York Times Book Review or Alfred Knopf and  all those other people who send me letters askin’ ‘bout it. 
 
I know what they want. They want to hear all ‘bout those nubile lil’ gals, especially Kim Applebottom, frolickin’ and splashin’ round and getting’ all wet in their tiny ‘lil bathin’ suits. 
 
Which I understand, don’t get me wrong, and I figure that if I appeal to enough of y’all’s prurient interests, I’m just that much closer to the condo in Cannes
 
Well, I go on over to Aunt Mary’s and help her haul all the junk out of her basement and put a price sticker on everthing, and set up her tables, and then I go staple her posters on the trees and finally, I get back home, and the dog has drug out a map of Wichita and looks up at me and says are the girl dogs in Wichita ugly, too?
 
I go, probl’y, so he goes and sits down, his head on his paws, just ponderin’ like dogs do sometimes.
Well, ever year the Puma cheerleaders have they summer party at the pool downtown and I got to say it’s somethin’ to see. There’s ‘bout eight of ‘em, dependin’ on who’s popular enough to get voted in ever year, plus they invite the pep squad and the drill team, too, which are the girls who ain’t quite cute or popular enough to be a cheerleader, but, still they ain’t too bad, especially in teeny lil’ bathin’ suits splashin’ and, as I say, frolickin’ round the pool.
 
They don’t invite boys, but somehow, word gets ‘round and so there’s usually ‘bout twenty, thirty girls and ‘bout three hundred boys. 
 
But before I go on, are you sure you want to hear ‘bout it? Some people, I know, ain’t interested in hearin’ a graphic description of twenty, thirty cute teenage girls prancin’ and dancin’ ’round in they tiny wet bathin’ suits. So if you’re one of ‘em, just skip ahead to the next chapter, because I don’t want you to be thinkin’ I’m sophomoric.
 
But, if you’re like everbody else, why, just get you a refreshin’ beverage and settle on down.
 
Naturally, it’s a big event for all the girls, and ‘bout a  week beforehand, they all drag their mamas up to Mapleville Mall to buy ‘em they new bathin’ suits and argue with ‘em ‘bout what’s appropriate and what ain’t.
 
By a coincidence, I happened to be out at Sears yesterday, pricing’ a new can opener, and since Sears has got their appliance department and their bathin’ suit department shoved up right against each other, I heard what was goin’ on.
 
“No way, ma’am, you just put that thing back on the rack right now, missy.” This was Kim Applebottom’s mama Aquanetta talkin’ to her.
 
“Mama! No! I want this one!”
 
“I ain’t lettin’ no daughter of mine prance ‘round Pineville spillin’ all her groceries out!”
 
“Mama, let me try it on and you can see it ain’t so bad!”
 
“You can try it on all day long but I said no!”
 
So Kim heads toward the dressin’ room, and I become very interested in a nice Sunbeam can opener, and start readin’ all the fine print on the box in order to make an informed consumer decision.
 
Y’all know Kim Applebottom. She’s Glenda Lou from the church choir’s lil’ sister, and good looks sure run in the family. Glen and Aquanetta’s got ‘em five teenage daughters, and they ain’t a sour pickle in the bunch. And, they’s all built like Botticelli did ‘em on a real good day.
 
Well, I’m studyin’ the warranty, and Kim sashays on out wearin’ this two-piece turquoise thong deal that, let me see, how exactly do I say this?
 
Let’s just say that if Hugh Hefner himself had been in Sears that day, he would’ve lit his pipe up and asked Kim how she’d like to be Miss July?
 
“Oh no. No you don’t. Un-uh.  You just go in and take that thing off right now, young lady! Imagine, Satan, right here in Sears.” This was Aquanetta, of course, and she was pursin’ her lips and tappin’ her foot.
 
“Mama! Yes!”
 
“Kim!”
 
“Mama! This ain’t bad! You should see what Cecilia Estes got yesterday! Of course, her mama ain’t mean!” and Kim starts to sniffin’ and wellin’ up, like all teenage girls do when they sense a weakness in a parent.
 
Aquanetta, in a statement which I thought demonstrated her fairness and which I fully approved of, says “Well, turn around and let me see it from the back.”
 
So she did, and ‘bout that time a sales clerk come up and asks me why I’m squeezin’ my warranty card so hard.
 
Just about then, in walks another Puma cheerleader, Dorita Lynn Rushmore, and her mama Raylena.Dorita Lynn’s ‘bout the prettiest lil’ gal in Pineville. In fact, not that it’s gonna happen, but if I had Reese Witherspoon on one line and Dorita Lynn on the other line, both of ‘em askin’ me to take ‘em out bowlin’ tonight, it’d be a tough choice.
 
And, not to be prurient or nothin’ but she, Dorita Lynn, has got her a sensational figure, too. One time she was walkin’ ‘round downtown in some real tight shorts and one o’ them tanker top deals, and Junior Estes double-taked himself so hard they had to put his neck in traction for a week.
 
So while Kim’s walkin’ up and down the aisles tryin’ out her new bathin’ suit, Dorita Lynn picks her up a lil’ purple deal off the rack, and at first I thought it was one of them doilies like Aunt Mary’s got on her sofa, but no, it was a bathin’ suit, and she walks into the dressin’ room with it. Dorita Lynn, I mean, not Aunt Mary.
 
Well, I decide since I’m already here, I might as well have a look-see at what’s new in blenders, so I move on over and start studyin’ a Cuisinart.
 
‘Bout this time, dang, here comes just ‘bout the whole rest of the Puma cheerleaders walkin’ in with they mamas. I guess they all decided to meet up there together to get they new bathin’ suits and to make sure nobody’d pick out the same one as somebody else. 
 
Men, as you probl’y know, don’t care ‘bout stuff like that. Shoot, it wouldn’t bother me a bit if I go to the pool and see Junior Estes wearin’ the same set of trunks as me, in fact, I’d compliment him on his good taste in beachwear.  But girls has all got to have different ones, which is why Sears has so many of ‘em hangin’ on the rack.
 
If I’m Sears, I’m thinkin, I’ll just get me a bolt of cloth and make all my suits out of the same deal, which would save a lot of money. But I guess that’s why I ain’t in the bathin’ suit business and Sears is so good at it. He knows the secrets of retailin’, and I admittedly don’t.
 
Well, pretty soon, all these young gals are whizzin’ through the racks and chatterin’ away, and holdin’ they lil’ suits up against theyselves, and askin’ each other what they think, and runnin’ back and forth to the dressin’ room and prancin’ on out modelin’ theyselves in the mirror, and struttin’ all over Sears Young Ladies Beachwear Department and checkin’ out how they look from behind.
 
All the mamas are reachin in they purses for they Anacin and Valiums and bibles.
 
“How darling! Y’all have got to get that one, Chelsea!”
 
“You just take that wicked thing off right now, Miss Princess.”
 
“Amanda, you don’t think this one makes my butt look too big?
 
“I swear, your daddy ain’t even ever seen me with less clothes on. Get back into that dressing room right now!”
 
“Shoot, Katelin, y’all have got a cute butt! I wish I did”
 
“Forty dollars! Do y’all think I’m Mrs. Bill Gates or somethin’?”

And so on. Fact is, it was gettin’ pretty hard to concentrate on blender features with all the racket goin’ on.
 
‘Bout this time, I noticed a whole lot of other people populatin’ the appliance department. I guess they was havin a sale or somethin’ that day. Fred Trimble was interested in a toaster oven, and Earl Hogg was comparin’ prices on the Kenmore and Frigidaire refrigerators.Bruno Elmore was contemplatin’ one of them electric orange juicer deals, and Delmer Stubbs was interestin’ himself in a hot air popcorn machine. The Estes brothers, Junior and Cecil III, were discussin’ the merits of GE toaster ovens as compared to the ones Braun makes. 
 
Since all the talk between the mamas and the girls was ‘bout the same, I won’t write it all down here. But basically, all the mamas was goin “I don’t think so, missy, you just march right over and put that thing back,” and all the girls was goin’ “Mama! Please! This ain’t 1970 no more,” and startin’ to pout and cry and throw a fit and stamp they lil’ petite feet on the floor.
 
It made me feel sorry for Glen Applebottom, shoot, with five dang teenage daughters, he has to put up with that all the time. No wonder he looks haggard when you see him.
 
 
After ‘bout a hour and a half, all the gals won they fights with they mamas, so everbody got they clothes back on and was standin’ in line at the checkout counter.
 
Well, it took me ‘bout a hour and a half to compare all the can openers and blenders and microwaves, and to deliberate they various features and read all they warranties. I noticed all the other boys who was appliance shoppin’ that day were careful consumers, too.
 
Well, anyway, next Saturday mornin’ dawned nice and bright, and it was another beautiful day in Pineville. The sky was azure, the grass was emerald, the skylarks was skylarkin’,  the breeze was gently waftin’ in from the northeast, and so I got up and had the idea that today would be a nice day to go down to the pool for a while.
 
So I’m rummagin’ ‘round in the chester drawers lookin’ for my Tommy Nassau trunks I got down at St. Jude’s couple years ago, and the dog wanders in with a hungry look on his face.
 
“Where y’all goin?” he says to me in dog talk, “I want to go too! But let’s eat first!”
 
I tell him I’m goin’ over to the pool, I don’t know why, just seems like a good day for it. And he starts hoppin’ around, on account of there’s nothin’ better he likes to do than go swimmin’, but I got to break the bad news to him.
 
I tell him they ain’t no dogs allowed at the pool, ever since that time Calvin Fricke’s Labrador retriever Gomer jumped in and practiced his dogpaddlin’, and then Elmer Drobkiewicz’s dachshund Weiner walks by and thought he’d join in the fun too. Then Floyd Dick’s bulldog Hillary thought that looked like a good idea, and before you know it, what we had was a dang dog Olympics goin’ on in the pool, there must’ve been forty, fifty dogs in there before somebody called the po-lice and made everbody take ‘em out. So it’s been a rule ever since, no dogs in the pool, so I explain this to the dog, and, naturally, he doesn’t feel he should be made to pay for somebody’s else’s mistakes.
 
But, rules are rules, I explain, and so I give him some strawberry ice cream and after a minute or two he gets over it.
 
Well, I get over to the pool just ‘bout noon, and to my surprise, guess what? 
 
Today just happens to be the day for the Puma Cheerleaders Annual Pool party! Yep!Ain’t that somethin’? 
 
And everwhere you looked, there were all these cute lil’ gals in their new bikinis, and they was swimmin’ and playin’ and splashin’ and frolickin and gigglin’ and drinkin’ diet grape sodas and listenin’ to they boom boxes. Must’ve been thirty, forty of ‘em. The cheerleaders, of course, plus the pep squad and the drill team, plus some of the Puma cheerleader alumni who dropped by for old times sake. And, everbody’s lil’ sisters who they had to take.
 
Surroundin’ the pool was ‘bout three hundred Pineville boys, sneakin’ a beer out of their coke cans and pokin’ each other and pointin’ to the girls and exchangin’ comments on ‘em, like boys do.
 
All the old folks in town know to stay away from the pool when the girls throw they party ever year, because nobody wants to take a dip and run the risk of collidin’ with a cheerleader when she’s practicin her cute lil’ breaststrokes.
 
Well, I set up my lawn chair and  open up  a refreshin’ beverage, and although I was a lil’ disappointed that I’d picked today, of all days, to go down to the pool,  I got over it.
 
I nodded howdy to Junior Estes, who was wearin’ some tasteful Tommy Nassau trunks.
 
There was Kim, and Cecilia, and Dorita Lynn, as well as Heather, Amber, Tiffany, Dawn, Katelin, Marcia Ann, Stephanie Sue, Tammy, Georgia, Madison, Summer, another Madison, Ashley, Jessica, Sarah, Brittany, Emily, Samantha, Amanda, two Megans, Brianna, Taylor, Kayla, Hannah, Nicole, Hayley, Alexis, Courtney, and Chelsea. And those were just the ones I know.
 
It looked like the biggest swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated you ever saw, only live and in person, plus, it weren’t on an exotic Caribbean beach, it was right here in Pineville. 
 
Some of ‘em were swimmin’ and tossin’ beach balls, some of em’ were dancin’, some of em’ were danglin’ they lil’ feet in the pool, a whole lot of ‘em was talkin’ to the boys and sneakin’ sips of they beer, but all of ‘em was runnin’ ‘round in their tiny lil’ wet bathin’ suits, shakin’ this and shakin’ that.
 
I was tryin’ to concentrate on the book I brought, War and Peace, but dang, the noise got so loud I finally had to put it down.
Well, ‘bout this time, Chad Flippen, whose daddy owns the Pay-more, pulls up and goes talkin’ to some of the boys. 
 
I don’t think I’ve ever told you ‘bout Chad. He’s one of Pineville’s rich kids, and I ain’t got nothin’ against that, don’t misunderstand. But, seems like anything he wants to do, he gets away with. Spoiled, is what I’m sayin’. He even drives him a fancy hot-rodded-up 1992 Taurus his daddy bought him, if that tells you anything.
 
I guess he figures since his daddy owns the grocery store, he can do whatever he wants to do. Like the time at Halloween when him and his buddies went and threw eggs at Mayor Grifter’s house. Hooliganism, is what it was, but when the mayor went and complained to his daddy, he, Chad’s daddy, said hey, boys will be boys, ain’t they?And he tells the mayor he’d just better forget about it, because he’d would hate to put up posters at the store endorsin’ the mayor’s next opponent. 
 
Naturally, the mayor, bein’ a politician, grovels a lil’ and says hey, I actually though it was funny how I had eggs drippin’ all over the front of my house, and he goes home.
 
Anyway, Chad gets a few of the boys together and says, hey, I got an idea. And they go “What?”
 
“Well,” Chad says, “I was unloadin’ the delivery truck the other day down at the store, and guess what it had on it?”
 
The boys, naturally and hopefully, say “Beer?”
 
Chad says “No, dang it, not beer. Jell-O! Seven whole cases, and I got ‘em in my trunk.”

The boys go “That’s nice, Chad,”  but keep an eye on all the adolescent girls scamperin’ ‘round in their itsy bitsy teeny-weeny bathin suits with a lil’ of this peekin’ out and some of that wigglin’ ‘round.
 
“Don’t that give you an idea?” says Chad.
 
Jason Estes says “Yep, let’s do some Jell-o shots! Party!”
 
Chad goes “No, dang it. Listen. Here’s what we’re gonna do!”
 
Well, ‘bout twenty minutes later, Chad and the boys are walkin’ round the pool, smilin’ real nice and sayin’ howdy to the girls, and complimentin’ they fine taste in beachwear, then sittin’ down on the edge of the pool, reachin’ in they backpacks and surreptitiously empytin’ ‘bout seven hundred boxes of Jell-O in it.
 
Then, Chad hollers out “Hey, I bet ain’t none of your girls is as good a swimmer as boys is!” 
 
Well, the girls all jump into the pool because this is the age of feminism and girls ain’t ‘bout to admit that boys can do anything better than they can, so all thirty or forty of ‘em proceed to do some dogpaddles, freestyles, backstrokes, butterflies, and crawls, as well as cute lil’ breaststrokes, and that water got all agitated up and frothy and splashin’ all over the dang place.
 
This goes on for about ten, fifteen minutes, and then somethin’ happened that you probl’y ain’t gonna believe, but, as you know, I never lie to you.
 
I looked up from War and Peace, and what I seen was all the cute cheerleaders, pep squad, drill team, and cheerleader alumni and their lil’ sisters sort of suspended there in the pool, in the middle of all they strokes, and they all had looks on they faces like, I don’t know.
 
Have y’all ever had Jell-O that’s got bananas and peaches in it? Aunt Mary makes it ever now and then, and it sure is good. But, what I’m sayin’ is that all these girls looked like they was lil’ banana and peach pieces, stuck there in the Jell-O. They cute lil’ heads was pokin’ out over the water, but the rest of they nubile lil’ bodies was glued there in the pool. They couldn’t move they legs or arms or nothin’, so they couldn’t even flail like you would normally. Yep. They was stuck, Stuck in a pool full of Jell-O.
 
Cherry, Lime, Lemon, Apricot, blackberry, grape, wild strawberry, orange, and fruit medley Jell-O. 
 
It was a rainbow Jell-O pool full of incapacitated teenage girls is what is was,  most of whom, between havin’ angst ‘bout not bein’ able to move they arms and legs and hopin’ that their hair ain’t got no Jell-O in it, was all  hollerin’ and cussin’ and goin’ “Ewwwww!” a lot.  
 
The boys, who of course will be boys, was goin’ Har har har! and slappin’ each other’s backs and chuggin’ beer out of they coke cans and watchin’ the girls wiggle ‘round in the biggest bowlful of Jell-O ever seen in Pineville.
 
That’s sayin’ somethin’, too. Shoot, when somebody dies, we always take casseroles and lots of Jell-O over to the bereaved’s house, and I remember when old Elmo Booker died that time, they was three different kinds of Jell-O sittin’ on the kitchen table. Um-mmmmm.
 
But that wasn’t anything like a swimmin’ pool full of Jell-O with real live nymphetic girls in it. For one thing, the bananas and peaches in Aunt Mary’s Jell-O ain’t screamin’ and tryin’ to crawl out of the bowl. They just sit there.
 
Well, word gets around Pineville pretty quick, and it weren’t too long that all the mamas and pops was there, lookin’ and tryin’ to diagnose the problem and work together to find a solution.
 
Vern Snavely says, “Well, why don’t we all just go get a lot of spoons and eat ‘em out?”
 
Aquanetta says “Let’s everbody go home and get our vacuum cleaners, and we’ll just suck ‘em out.”
 
&nbs


© Copyright 2017 John Dawson. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: