Cool Cat Can't Breathe

This is ridiculous.
How old are you?
Yet you're back on the playground,
sweaty palms, and an over-beating heart.
The pressure building up in your gut to do something unheard of.
uncalled for.

Just do it!
Will anyone be watching?
Crap!
Just tell them it's stupid.
Then I look like a wimp.
I am not a wimp.
...
Crap!

So I do it.
This is not the kid from the playground.
She's grown up now.
Against my Aunt's wishes,
the frilly black death trap
incircling my cousin's black dress,
clawing and scratching at her neck
like a kitten with claws,
shaped in a feminine fan,
front to back,
but formed like a torture device
proudly planted by Satan himself,
was unstitched from the seems of her dress.
The day before her sister's wedding.

Take it out Alexa, I won't say that it was you.

Her mother, my aunt, repetitively said no,
but the advantage of my cousin's wild youth
took hold of me and told me yes.
So I unstitched it, flawlessly, but hastily.

Please God don't have Auntie walk in.
Please, please, please God.

Then I remembered that God isn't on your side,
not when you are doing something bad.

Oh I am so bad.

The dress looked perfect.
I felt like the kid from the playground,
but after she has proven her bravery.
when the kids begin to oooo and ahhhh
and when the head cool cat says you're pretty legit.
I'd never let them know that every second I was braking the law,
I was shouting to myself,

CRAP!

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