Kiss The Pig

After giving Brooke a bath the other night, she got into my perfume and sprayed a generous amount if it in her hair.  It reminded me of an experience I had in high school.  I was a sophomore, and back then, I was a little insane (not much has changed in that category).  Our school had a contest to see which teachers would have to kiss a real pig.  The day of the assembly came, and the teachers were puckered up and ready (some even applied chapstick).  The person chosen to carry the little piglet out on stage was none other than yours truly.  The owner of the pig had given the little guy a bath and then plastered it with the cheapest perfume I had ever smelled.  Whew.  I carried the pig out on stage while my friend sang "Kiss the Pig" (tuned to "Kiss the Girl.").  When my friend sang the part of the song that said, ". . . all you gotta do is ask it. . .", he held the microphone up to the pig, I gave it's belly a squeeze, and the little piggy squealed.  It sent the crowd roaring with laughter.  I had to do this for two assemblies.  In the second assembly, I squeezed the piggy's tummy a little too hard, and it duked on me.  So, after all was said and done, I smelled like a cross between a pigsty and a perfume parlor.  

It's amazing what memories can be stirred up by just a little whiff of perfume.