Rhythmic Gymnastics 101

100 Word Memoir by Jeremy Pegg

Some people like a cigarette after. I like a pull of gin. Or vodka. Or bourbon. Or Rolling Rock if that’s all there is. Gotta keep that flame burning, keep the chest warm, keep the brain swimming and the face smiling.

In the garage, before dinner and tv hockey, I tune into a French film full of dancing and explosions of visual rapture. The actors jump, spin, and gyrate with such joy and vigor it must be fueled by mountains of cocaine or uncut euphoria.

I’m enchanted, but they lose me at the entrance of the swirling toilet paper-on-a-stick dancer.