Last night was my brother's choir concert. My dad ditched so I went with my grandmother. What I wasn't told was that the concert was to be combined with the elementary school choir concerts this time. Which meant that 1) They'd sound lousier than usual, and 2) Happy Harley would be there.
Happy Harley--unlike the last Harley I crossed paths with, this Harley was...not a small horse, first of all, and probably wouldn't appreciate being painted green. She was an elementary school music teacher in every essence of the word. Short and perpetually smiling, with musical knowledge ranging from "Don't wanna be your Valentine," "Suzy Snowflake," and "Plant a Little Watermelon On My Grave" to "When Witches were Waltzing" and "Swimming, Swimming, Into the Swimming Pool." Her hair was always teased and poofed into a fro about triple the size of Ronald McDonald's.
I managed to spot her again on the stage. As of 2011, the poof had been flattened somewhat and she'd essentially turned into a shrively brunette version of Mother Gothel from Tangled. Like this, with the same buggy eyes and goofy grin put on a real person.
Don't worry. Afterward I didn't do anything that would've put me in detention. Through sheer force of preadolescent apathy I completely bypassed her choir and only had to deal with Happy Harley and her sloppy air instrumentalist act. I didn't wind up in choir at all until 7th grade. What a lucky break!
The concert was long and about what you'd expect from a concert that included 4th-6th graders and a first-year middle school director.