Skating into Sarcasm

Yesterday evening, HRH announced to the kids that we were going skating.

Without consulting me, though perhaps he did consult our insurance agent, this man has decided that once again I am to come face to face with The Blades of Death.

You see, I have been ice skating exactly once before, when I was younger and limber-er. And in spite of my youngness and limberness and delusions of grandeur, I busted my ass. Over and over and again. It wasn’t graceful or pretty or thrilling or Kristy Yamaguchi at all.

This morning, HRH laid in bed as long as he wanted, had breakfast, went freaking jogging, and somehow in that period of time all of the laundry and all of the breakfast and all of the children and all of their stuff was magically prepared in time to go to Aka Renga Soko, a renovated red brick warehouse near the port in Yokohama. In the winter time they construct a pit of death outdoor skating rink there.

This skating fiasco overlapped nicely with a German Christmas town, or something like that, that was going on there. We went last year. They had sausage.

The weather called for cold but sunny weather. It looked promising this morning. Until I stepped out of the house, and then the heavens clouded over and angry winds began to blow.

We had our German Christmas (there was even a plastic baby Jesus! He was missing an eye, but still I have never seen that in Japan before!) complete with sausage and sauerkraut. For some reason they also had churros…

Then it was time to face my destiny.

Me Too had never been ice skating before. Me First has been once. I got them into their rented shoes, HRH having mysteriously disappeared, and helmets. (Considering that these are my children, they really ought to be wearing helmets at all times.)

HRH took them onto the ice. (There are stairs leading up there that I was no match for.) Me Too promptly fell on her butt. Then she started crying that skating was stupid and she didn’t want to do it any more and can we get some more sausage.

That’s my girl.

Anyway, the boys basically abandoned us after that. Me, who cannot skate, and she, who cannot skate, were left at the mercy of an outdoor rink that was incredibly crowded. Eventually we made it around enough to get our 500yen worth and escaped to the chairs to watch other people bust their butts for a change.

Later that evening, Me Too wanted to watch ice skating on TV. We watched in silence for a little bit, then after a particularly impressive jump, I said, “I did that today.”

She looked over at me like

( ? _ ? )

As if to imply “I saw you holding onto the wall with the strength of a thousand men.”

It’s true; my arms are totally sore.

We watched some fancy twirling. “Easy!” I said.

I saw Me Too’s eyes start to dance. “I can do that, too!” she said.

“Oh, everyone near the wall could do that. We were doing all kinds of fancy stuff,” I quip.

Me First looks over, incredulous. “Really?”

Me Too is into it now. “Yeah! It was a wall party! People threw flowers at me when I was done. Hundreds of flowers! Trillions of flowers!”

So what if I couldn’t teach my little girl how to ice skate? She learned to be sarcastic today.


Here’s a grainy photo from Aka Renga’s website.


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