Damsel in Distress?

Posted: January 15, 2012 in adventure, funny, student life, women
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Damsel in Distress??

Let’s just say; I’m not your average Damsel!

The word “damsel” derives from the French demoiselle, meaning “young lady”, and the term “damsel in distress” in turn is a translation of the French demoiselle en détresse. It is an archaic term not used in modern English except for effect or in expressions such as this, which can be traced back to the knight errant of Medieval songs and tales, who regarded the saving of such women as an essential part of his raison d’être. – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Damsel_in_distress
Ok so by now you must have surely realized that I’m not average. I don’t know how to describe myself correctly, but at least I can honestly say that I’m definitely NOT average. From the age of 14, I shared a home with 8 male Engineering students. See the Mechanical Engineers mainly consisted of drunken, greasy, ponytailed metal-heads on a constant high, devoting any extra time available to grasp the cords on the electric guitar hopelessly failing to play ACDC’s “Thunder”! The electrical or civil engineers did the cargo pants with check shirts and a neatly divided “middelpaadjie”. Their moms sent baked goodies to them each month and their rooms were disturbingly tidy! Basically you can assume from this household environment that I had a vast variety of role models to learn from. I could take the best and worst attributes and apply it to my own life. I exchanged school dances with Varisty Rag, my curfew went from 22:00 to 02:00 o clock. Kissing boys on school terrain ( I won’t lie this still happened) changed to pretending I’m a law student at a house party. I can carry on and on with the list but I’m sure the point were carried across. The agreement between my mom and the students VERY clearly and on the front page indicated that at NO stage is fraternizing with her daughters allowed. Let’s just say I applied the “rules are made to be broken” philosophy in a rather frequent manner! The students soon taught me how to burp in public and my abilities in that department exceeded all expectations especially when once I’ve burped the next-door neighbor’s dogs started to bark aggressively. This skill did come very handy when I had to initiate a quick distraction of some kind. Basically I had the time of my life!!! The burping actually reminds me of an incident in my Matric year. See I usually bunked home economics for the Technical Drawing class, which primarily consisted of only boys. On this particular day the teacher allowed them to watch an international cricket match between SA and Australia on the one condition that they remain silent and with no funny pranks or wise cracks from anyone. With me off course the only girl around. We were all busy consuming our purchases from the school kiosk and mine included a can of cola. Now see my emmmm gas level capacity increased a bit too quick and I had to let out some. It was louder than I anticipated thus I brought the whole class to a dead silence for about 2 minutes. Everybody stopped and searched the classroom to identify the boy brave enough to challenge Mr. Smith’s promise. I would guess that at least 4 boys knew it was me, but they didn’t make a sound. After what felt like an eternity Mr. Smith asked us who it was.
I wasn’t about to confess? Imagine how humiliated the guys would be? Like any underpaid teacher the pure joy of taking revenge and proving to the department of education the positive impact a conveyor belt banging across the buttocks of 20 young boys can have on class moral, they each got 3 lashings. Three lashings each, across of those I saw were very attractive rear-ends if I may say so. Off course I walked out of there unharmed and had to listen to a speech on “how to behave in front of girls” Mr Smith so passionately delivered just before the bell rang. After class Peter and gang did however mention to me that they would think up an appropriate punishment for me to settle at a later stage. The other boys who heard later weren’t too impressed with me either, but in a dead poet’s society kind of way I did earn respect amongst them. Also little did I know that my punishment later the year was to ask the headmaster (yes yes the biggest numb-nut known to humanity) to dance at our Matric dance. I am still slightly disturbed and mentally damaged from that experience but my therapist has made fast improvements thus far.

Ok so back to life in the Fraternity House. When the time arrived that I attend varsity I was already initiated and operated like a well oiled party machine! I actually want to share a certain incident with you which went down round about my 3rd or 4th year in varsity (accuracy on timing not guaranteed). I say incident because when you’re a student living life in the fast lane you tend to completely lose the best part of your better judgment. So party nights were now extended from Monday – Saturday every night with a clock in card around 4am each morning. In recent times in my life I often ponder about this miraculous ability to party non-stop, I cannot for the love of it figure out where we got the energy from back then? Ok ok I actually do know, but certain things are best left unsaid *evil grin*.
So one Friday night in Hatfield (confessions of the Hatfield harem) we met up with an international visiting rugby team (I signed a confidentially clause ok?). After many a shooters and the cross exchange of saliva we had to remove the international claws from ourselves and call a taxi for the blokes to take them back to the hotel they were staying at. Due to our southern hospitality we were invited to the lobby lounge of the International Hotel at OR Tambo to have farewell drinks with the boys before their flight departs the next morning early. We really thought this would be a small gathering and to our astonishment turn out to be a formal team event with coaches and team managers and IRB officials. I was completely gob-smacked and reckoned I have met yet another “love of my life” (for the record this is a regular occurrence displayed numerously with girls between the ages 20 – 24) and that I’d become the next rugby-housewife and immigrate, all planned out. Well loverboy reckoned we should go somewhere more “private” to say our farewell’s which I was as eager to do. Up in he’s room, a scene pretty much similar to those in the “Mills & Boons” stories played out and we we’re rather hot and bothered. But wait there’s more: At that stage there were a knock at the door. Loverboy went to open the door and whallah Mr. Team Coach were standing there himself. At first I thought we were in trouble and that I’m gonna get a speech on how these activities influence player potential blah blah but instead what Mr Coach requested was rather weird and slightly disturbing. Ok so we’re talking about me here, meaning that “slightly disturbing” sounded rather exciting to me and if it weren’t for the gentle mannerism in which he kindly requested my permission I would have been outa there in a second or…possibly in huge trouble…. Instead we all signed a confidentiality clause and me and loverboy proceeded with our devious acts while the Head Coach of an international rugby team kept a close eye on the ball and made sure that no hands were used in the ruck!! *wink*
Definition of a ruck and maul?
A ruck is where a player has been tackled and has been gone to ground after both opposition and their own players have joined and created a ruck. The hands must NOT be used in a ruck after it has been formed.
Read more: http://wiki.answers.com/Q/What_is_a_rugby_ruck_and_maul#ixzz1jZIikgt1

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