Playing the Pink Piccolo

When I was in primary school, we did a little instructional play about safety. I don't remember much about it. I'm sure there was stuff about wearing goggles and not playing with matches and avoiding railway lines.

As far as I'm concerned, no-one should have mentioned these things. That way, the more stupid children would have died from recklessness, and wouldn't have gone on to secondary school to get all the girls and be better than me at football. My odds would have improved.

But no. We have to help them out, in case they accidentally stabbed themselves in the face with a pencil. The idiots.

If Darwin was in the audience of that play, he would have been shaking his head, stroking his beard and rolling his eyes.

In fact he was in the audience! At least, I think it was him - an old man with a beard anyway. And he was definitely shaking, stroking and rolling something.

(All men with beards are paedophiles - fact)

(I am a man and have a beard - fact)

(I should stop this train of thought - fact)

Anyway, my part in the play was to demonstrate the dangers of running with scissors. I did this by... running with scissors.

Seriously. My part was holding the scissors by the handles, and running across the stage.

What were they thinking? Perhaps they were hoping for a vivid demonstration of scissor-power by me tripping and gouging something important out of my head. The pen is mightier than the sword. But the pen filled with human blood is mightier than the regular pen.

I suppose it's flattering in a way: they obviously thought I was responsible enough to demonstrate an incredible irresponsible act.

They were foolish, though. Although I was quite clever then, I certainly wasn't the most co-ordinated child. All the co-ordinated children were the stupid ones - that's why they became good at sports and attracted the girls. While I was studying clumsily, they were doing keepy-uppies on the railway tracks whilst pouring acid in their eyes. Oh, how the ladies' eyelashes fluttered.

It could all have been different. If I'd fallen with the scissors and pierced my neck, I could have been the attractive one. Nobody is more alluring than the boy with two scissor-wounds in his neck. I would have looked like I'd been bitten by a blunt vampire.

Who would the girls go for then? The stupid boys doing back-heels, or the kid who can play the piccolo through his larynx?

Who?

Really?

Oh.

Well, I suppose it was ordained that I would get through the play unscathed, and be reduced to playing the piccolo with my mouth.

Darwin taught me how.