Did You Hear That?

"Did you hear that?" I ask my fellow jazz gals. "Hear what?" they say. Seriously?  Must I go through life with such an auditory gift? Sigh. "Are you telling me you people don't hear that thwack-thwack-thwack?" They all look at me as they often do, as though I'm completely wackadoodle. "Let a Jew handle it," I say. "Handle what?" our teacher Doug asks. "The thwack-thwack-thwack." Whereupon I sashay down the hall with intent. The door to the big studio is open, a major no-no according to the only rules that count. Mine. What I see is disturbing. What I see is a certified SJG Keppy-Scratcher.

What I see looks something like this photo, only less gentlemanly, and much more martial arts, especially on a Sunday afternoon in a venue dedicated to dance. Pairs of peeps, dressed in black, stick fighting. I scan the room. I'm clearly outnumbered. I can say nothing and tip-toe back down the hall. Or I can risk getting thwacked. I'll let you guess my next move.