no shanking!

There are many rules at our house, and some of them are the usual – no killing, no maiming, no pooping in the kitchen, no setting fires, clean up after yourself, etc.

But we have another rule at our house that I bet most of you don’t need to have.

That rule is No Shanking.

Shanking, for you uninitiated, is more commonly known as “pantsing,” or perhaps “depantsing.” Basically it involves sneaking up behind someone and pulling his or her pants down.

Sammi claims that Ginny is the one who introduced shanking to our home life, and I’m not sure if that’s accurate or not, as shanking occasionally happens at Sammi’s basketball practices. Ahem. But regardless of who brought it home, it became a sensation.

For a while there, someone was getting shanked at my house every day. Only Dad was exempt, I think, although what he and Mom do behind closed doors is NOT SOMETHING I WANT TO THINK ABOUT, GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

Anyway. It was mostly me and my sisters getting shanked. Again, Sammi claims she got shanked the most, but I certainly found my ass on display more than once.

The shankings occurred so frequently at my house that they became an epidemic, and my parents had to actually create a rule to explicitly ban shanking altogether.

So don’t anyone try to tell me my family’s normal, yo. Unless the no shanking rule is really quite a common thing at your house, too, in which case you’d damn well better be notifying me of this phenomenon.

Shanking was never something new at school. In fact, I performed my first shank in the 2nd grade, because Derek C. (not to be confused with Derrick S., who sadly is no longer alive today) was so unfortunate as to piss me off on the playground. He was wearing red sweatpants, and within moments he was wearing them around his ankles and we were all laughing at his tighty-whities. I bet he wished he’d tied the drawstring on those sweatpants.

I had to sit out of recess for a week over that little incident. Well, that, and possibly also because I knew I was going to get in trouble for doing it, so I went and hid in the concrete tunnels on the playground (so clever, I was) until after the bell rang, at which point I crawled out of the tunnel to make my escape – and bumped directly into the recess monitor who had been standing outside the tunnel waiting for me the whole time.

But I digress. It was, however, my best shank to date and quite worth the punishment.

In middle school the shanking phenomenon reared its ugly head once again. It was a particularly bad time for it since Umbro soccer shorts were all the rage. We lived in fear in those days. You always had to be sure that the drawstring on your Umbros was not only tied tightly, but also double-knotted to make absolutely certain that you wouldn’t get depantsed in the hallway. Luckily I made it through those years unscathed – possibly because I was still the reigning Shank Queen, having done it so well in my elementary school days.

Anyway. So the depantsing subsided for a few years, and then suddenly it popped up again – not at school this time, but at our house. And now it’s banned.

So if you ever visit me at my parents’ house, you’d better not shank me or else you’ll get in trouble.

Because there is No Shanking at our house, no sir. Keep your pants on.