Pink Boots and a Machete Read Online Free PDF Page B

nine-to-five job. The woman who sat next to me, though not my supervisor, got her kicks from bossing me around. She was so miserable and frustrated with her dead-end job that I vowed never to become her. You know when people ask you what that moment was when you knew ? Fran was my moment. It was watching her belittle an assistant at the fax machine that made me realize the only thing that could save me was to sign up for college. It seemed my only ticket out.
    It turns out that campus life suited me, and I surprised myself by how much I loved academia. I particularly enjoyed creative writing and philosophy. I even fell madly in love with my philosophy professor, an older, free-spirited vegetarian whose lectures on animal cruelty, ethics, and religion mesmerized me. Plus, he was really cute and even dedicated one of his books to me.
    Philosophy and logic classes were a natural fit for me. Given my Cuban background, I was very good at arguing and excelled at coming up with a rationale where none existed, a talent I had no doubt learned from my three mothers. Repeatedly, I was told by professors that I’d make a great lawyer, a statement I had often heard from my moms. When I graduated from my two-year college, I received a full scholarship to the University of Miami, where I went on to finish my bachelor’s degree.
    Much as I was loving college life, something was missing. I was no longer performing in plays, and I’d stopped going to commercial castings. Throughout junior high and high school, I’d been good at basketball, even receiving a full basketballscholarship to the University of Mississippi, but I had by now stopped playing sports competitively.
    Then in a simple twist of fate on the beach one afternoon I met Vivian.
    She was a gorgeous blonde with a Colgate smile, and I couldn’t help but notice that she was flaunting the tan I had always yearned for. We hit it off, and I asked her what she did. “I’m a cheerleader,” she responded. My puzzled look may have prompted her to add “For the NFL,” as if to say “a professional one.”
    A professional cheerleader?
    I loved watching football, but somehow I had never given a thought to the bouncing beauties on the sidelines. Vivian said, “You should try out next week.” Me? I thought. I hadn’t even made the high school squad. How could I possibly be selected among hundreds to be a cheerleader for the Miami Dolphins?
    â€œOK, I will.”
    My mom had always encouraged me to go for the seemingly impossible (as long as camping was not involved), so I convinced myself to give it a try. The mere thought that there might be something I couldn’t do ignited my competitive instincts and gave me the push to audition. I really wanted to believe I could do it and figured I had nothing to lose but my pride and dignity. Plus, I thought the uniforms were cute.
    But let there be no mistake. I auditioned not because I really wanted to be a cheerleader, but rather as a way to get into the games. As an avid football fan, I knew standing on the sidelines would give me a far better view than any ticketI could buy. And did I mention the cute uniforms?
    On arriving at the stadium for the auditions, I could see just past the parking lot hundreds of beautiful, scantily dressed girls stretching and practicing their best yoga moves. I walked back to my car and called Mom to tell her I had changed my mind. In her usual way, she boosted my confidence and urged me not to take myself out of the race. As I paced back and forth, never straying more than 20 feet from my little red convertible, the blond goddess Vivian walked by. In her bubbly, professional cheerleader way she said, “So glad you decided to come!”
    Not wanting to admit defeat, I walked into the sea of beauties.
    I signed in and was assigned a choreographer and given a number. For the next several weeks I would answer to #325. Later that afternoon, I was one of 75