The Cheerleading Skirt: A Cautionary Tale to Remember the Next Time You Consider Doing a Good Deed

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I don't know why I always feel the need to be vocal about embarrassing things that I do or allow to happen to me; maybe it's out of fear that they'll be discovered by other means and that's somehow infinitely more embarrassing than if I just cop to it and tell the story myself. So here's a good one with a face slapping moral at the end, too.

Last year, I was wasting my precious time on some guy I knew who was going through one of those “I'm going to eventually marry this girl I allegedly can't stand but have been with for years because I'm in my mid-30's and don't know another way to live but for now she's banished me to the couch so I'm going to temporarily focus on you, you conventionally attractive by modern standards young female” phases. I'm perpetually naive, and usually choose to focus on the positive, so I bought everything he was selling. And when I like someone that much, I will pretty much do anything to make them happy. I mean, not anything —I would never hide murder weapons or lie to the government or go to South America under any circumstance, so don't even ask—but when said person lets me know that they have, say, a personal interest in cheerleaders, well, that's within the realm of the possible.

When I actually put effort into something, as opposed to my usual lazy half-assed attempts at most things, I do it right. No trashbox Ricky's Halloween Store cheerleader costume for me and mine! No, I had to find an actual cheerleading supply website and damn if I didn't pick an amazing skirt. I paired it with a tank top and mini crop sweater and thigh highs, and guess what? It was predictably amazing.

But like all good things; dinosaur epochs and Shark Week and the like, this facsimile of a sham of a relationship came to an end and I was left with a very obvious cheerleader skirt that can't exactly be converted into a more commonly useful wardrobe piece. Luckily I currently have a job that calls for various forms of bizarre costuming, so it's been put to use a little bit. But neither my blind adoration of some cheerleader-fetishizing fool, nor the ability to create some interesting costumes is worth the aftermath: the cheerleading supply website E-BLITZKRIEG.

For months after I originally bought the skirt, they emailed me weekly. Every time, I clicked the opt-out link. An adult woman not on a high school cheerleading squad only needs one cheerleader skirt maximum, okay? No need for updates. That thing is pleated and sturdy; it's not wearing out any time soon. It kept giving me a “you have successfully opted-out of mailing list” message. Obviously lies, because the harassment never ceased. So I tried the other option, sending a blank email with subject line “Remove My Email” to unsubscribe@didyouseriouslybuyacheerskirtforsomeguy.com . BCC: Yes, you really did.

The emails persisted. There is nothing worse than weekly emails reminding you of how you once cared enough about someone to dress in the universally acknowledged uniform of sheer blatant evil nastiness (to anyone who loathed high school), and yet still, in the end, they leave you for their bridge-dwelling troll-like grandmother-shaped girlfriend. It's not the happiest imagery to accompany your morning coffee while you check emails.

I found an actual phone number and called, demanding they remove me from the email list. It worked. Months have passed peacefully, uninterrupted by ugly memories waiting to be reactivated by a casual unassuming email on a bad day, and the skirt only has positive connotations when I wear it for a job and think I look hot. Until today.

Checking my mail, what do I find but an actual paper-and-ink fucking catalog for cheerleader clothing and supplies. Oh my God. Sitting in my mail like it fucking belongs there. Like I'm some kind of pedophile-creepster-cheerleader-molesting monster. I grabbed it and shoved it in my bag lest one of my neighbors see (if they hadn't already), and I wrapped it in a plastic bag to throw away. The shame!

Moral of the story: Be preciously selective when it comes to doing favors for people. Sleep on it for a night or twenty. Make sure someone is worthy of your realistic costuming talents. You'll probably eventually conclude that no one is worth a cheerleading advertisement blitzkrieg. I'm sure the Brothers Grimm would've been able to put it more meaningfully, but that's the gist of the story. Also? I deserve a Nobel Prize for Awesomest Girlfriend in All the Land.

About

Rennie Sweeney ran away from Appalachia to New York at age 17 and earned an undergraduate degree in Creative Writing. She currently works as a fashion, art, and fit model, and will soon begin graduate studies in Psychology. She will be spending the summer working in Paris and blowing her savings to investigate World War II stuff and pester Europeans.

Check out her blog at michaelrenniewasill.wordpress.com

Email her at rennie.sweeney@gmail.com

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