Sounds ominous, doesn't it? I traveled north and lived to tell the tales.
Some tales will forever be with-held for reader ease and comfort and writer save-faceiness. (Yes, another new word, feel free to pass it along.)
I almost dreaded my visit to the great twin cities. Why? Three words. Self Defense Class.
Michelle, the friend who found such great delight in my spinning glass debacle, signed up the females in her household for said class. She even gave me one of her daughters since it was a mother/daughter opportunity.
Poor kid.
Oh, I played it up. Told her I was going to get some read-white-and-blue "bad boy" parachute pants from which to deliver roundhouse kicks to heads.
I even decided I could maybe do a bit of heckling. After all, this would be my fourth self-defense class, and believe me, with two brothers I'd developed the art of roundhouse.
But, since I'm such a good sport, and feel the need to make others laugh, I took my good attitude to self-defense class and waited for some sweet openings.
I learned something. Quite a bit, actually. Did you know that you can listen to your inner chicken and avoid awkward or ugly situations?
Okay, I knew that.
You can also rush the bad guys and use surprise, wicked elbow thrusts and power stomps to pretty much deliver a really bad day.
So far I haven't had a chance to use my new empowerment. But, man, did we have fun with it at the mall.
