Screaming for Scrunchies

Every now and then I think back to my days with the Kiddies.

For years, sixth grade grils (sic) were big on scrunchies to hold their hair in a ponytail. A scrunchy, technically, is a colorful, usually fuzzy elastic hair band. However, I am not sure the Kiddies knew the difference between a scrunchy and a hair band made of colorful elastic.

A good time with the Kiddies could be had on many subjects, but when filling a moment while waiting for announcements or PE or whatever, “Screaming for Scrunchies” went something like this.

“Guys, I hope you know that we are bozos when it comes to fashion. I mean, if it is clean or even sort of clean we put it on, right? Girls know like two-hundred colors and we know seven.”

Heads bob.

“Guys, we can’t help it. Girls know all about colors and what goes with what. How many here have a sister, older than fourth grade?”

Hands go up.

“How many have seen this, probably this morning… Sister tosses you out of the bathroom yelling, ‘I have to get ready!’ Then she stands in front of the mirror and comb, comb, combs with one hand while holding her hair back with the other. Comb, comb comb.”

I do a weak imitation, holding my head to one side, pretending to comb, comb, comb. “Finally it is perfect. Then Sister starts to look for a scrunchy.”

“Now, sister is running down the hall screaming for scrunchies. She is hollering at anyone who will listen that she has to have a scrunchy.”

Guys are nodding. Girls are getting sort of quiet.

“So, maybe you decide to give Sister a break by holding up a scrunchy you found in the cushions of the couch. ‘Here is one,’ you offer.”

“Sister looks at you like you are an idiot. ‘Hello? That’s pink! Duh! I’m wearing blue. Are you blind?'”

“Off she goes again, screaming for scrunchies. Of course, by the time she finds the right color, her hair is no longer perfect. Comb, comb, comb…”

One time a sixth grade gril said, “Were you at our house this morning?”