... or uhh, in my case, in the Thanksgiving follies after the big meal. I love how my brother, in the background, is so deeply enthralled with my performance he can hardly stand up straight.Speaking of Thanksgiving, our family's fondest memory is when my aunt didn't offer any gravy for the roast beast. The oversight seemed so scandalous at the time... or at least for a gaggle of elementary school aged kids. My cousin couldn't get past it and it consumed the kid's table conversation not just that day, but every Thanksgiving moving forward, too. My mom felt so badly for her that she ended up carting gravy every year afterwards from Birmingham to Montgomery.
Oh, and by the way, I was never coordinated enough to be an "official "cheerleader of anything. The closest I ever made it to cheerdom was Top 20 in middle school. And Dorians in high school-- Are you kidding? A most embarrassing dance/ kick routine to say the least. (I do have one juicy little routine I managed to learn and teach my roomates in college to the tune of Barry Manilow's Copacabana, but that's another story.) It just wasn't meant to be. But that's ok, I've learned there are other ways to rally the troops ;)
Rah-Rah and Roll Tide.
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