Page 20 of Class Clown

“Alright.” Cole brought our attention back. “The last thing is uniforms. Nico has them divided and labeled, so find the package with your name on it and make sure everything fits.”

“Uniforms?” I asked, confused, turning to Kristy and Gina who were already standing. “Nobody mentioned that before.”

Gina waved a hand and smiled. “It’s no big deal. We have to wear a uniform when the kids are dropped off on Sunday afternoon, and then again at pick up on Friday afternoon. The rest of the time you can wear your own clothes.”

“Why?” I asked, standing to join them.

“It puts on a good front for the parents. Makes it all look official,” Kristy answered.

“Even the health staff?” I asked.

“Everyone,” Kristy replied. “Parents always want to meet the nursing staff to make sure their kid will be well cared for. It’s a thing.”

What kind of thing are we talking here? I wondered. Was I going to be inspected like a race horse, have my flanks checked and have to show them my teeth? Should I carry my nursing license around with me?

“Please tell me there are sparkles on the shirts.” I crossed my fingers as we began moving toward where Nico was standing off to the side near neatly stacked piles of clothing wrapped in plastic. “Ooh, or maybe it’s a clingy red jumpsuit like the one Britney Spears wore in her music video!” They both blinked like they were not at all familiar with the red jumpsuit. Babies. “We could go around singing, ‘Oops, I did it again’ to the campers.” I did a little hip shake and hummed a line, but still they stared. “No?” I laughed.

“I think it’s green shorts and a white tee with the camp logo on it,” Gina said slowly.

“Bummer. My curves look good bedazzled.”

At this Kristy finally cracked a smile, and we joined the group searching for the plastic packets with our own names on the front. Sure enough, there was one with my name on it. I opened the bag and pulled out two white t-shirts that had the Camp Windsong logo on the left side of the chest, and two shorts in a park ranger green color – that special mix of brown and green that looks like baby poop and blends in with the woods. Zero sparkles.

I held up the shirt and frowned, looking up at Nico. “Who ordered these?”

“Me,” he answered, standing straight from where he’d been bent over trying to keep the piles tidy. He crossed his arms, defensive-like.

“Who gave you my size?” I asked.

“Cole.” His gaze skimmed over the shirt I was holding in front of me. “I had to pay for express shipping, but it looks okay.”

I waved it around. “Does it, really? Because Cole hasn’t lived with me since I crossed on into my thirties and went up a size. That happens every decade, you know?”

It probably didn’t have to, but I wasn’t giving up my sweets, so, yeah.

His lips became a straight line. “Why don’t you go into Cole’s office and try it on to be sure?”

I tipped my head down to hold the neck of the shirt with my chin, and used my hands to spread it out across my torso, holding the sides up against my ribs. “I could probably pour myself into it, but then you’d have parents complaining about lewd staff members, and you could forget about the no fraternizing rule. Those boys would be following me everywhere.” I looked back up at him playfully.

He swallowed and shifted, clasping his hands behind his back, standing straighter, and clearing his throat. His eyes darted away. “I would appreciate it if you’d try it on, ma’am.”

Oh, fab, we were getting the ma’am again. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do. But if any seams rip, that wasn’t my fault.”

He simply nodded and went back to what he’d been doing before. I gathered up the two outfits and made my way down the short hall to Cole’s office. After locking the door behind me, I stripped down to my underwear and tugged on a pair of the shorts. They were a little snug, but manageable. If I only had to wear them for an hour twice a week I could make do. It wasn’t like I was going to be sitting, squatting, jumping, or eating with them on. Breathing was less strenuous when standing, allowing full range of motion in the diaphragm. I made a mental note to avoid lunging in them.

Now for the shirt. I got my arms in, I got it over my head, and I tugged it down. Getting it over my, shall we say, endowments, was another story. I made it happen, but it had the same effect as wearing a too-tight sports bra – everything loose was being squished together and pushed up toward my chin.Hi, I’m Nurse Strangle-boob, I giggled to myself. It was exactly as I’d predicted. The sleeves were so tight I could hardly move my arms. This would not work.

Some issues arose when I went to pull off the shirt to put my own back on. Mainly, those of strangulation. I couldn’t tuck my elbows in far enough to get my arm back out of the arm hole, and when I tried to lift the bottom of the shirt over my head, my arms were forced into handcuffposition. You know, like cops do when they yell ‘hands behind your head’and they cuff a person right up against their skull, elbows out to the side? Hi, that was me.

I got the shirt back down, put my hands on my hips, and thought for a moment. I could either find help to strip me out of this nightmare or destroy the t-shirt. Cole was the only person I was close to here, and I think all sisters everywhere will understand why I went the direction of destruction. No way was I opening myself up to that kind of lifelong teasing. TheDay I Helped Ruby Stripstory would be told at holidays into eternity. Hard pass. And while I could probably get Kristy, just no. The lady did not need that sort of kick off to our working relationship. Could you imagine? Tearing your supervisor out of their shirt on day one?

I hurried around to the other side of Cole’s desk and opened drawers, searching for something to cut me free. I really had ended up in a skin-tight suit just as I’d joked about. Even moving my arms forward to pull out drawers was causing tugging against my shoulders. I should have trusted myself rather than caving to Nico and his stoic ‘ma’am’.

Finally, in a bottom drawer, I found a pair of scissors. They didn’t look very aggressive, and I wished I could have gone to the health center to get a decent pair, but regardless of what I’d told Nico, I wasn’t looking for an HR complaint. Besides, with enough sawing I could probably at least loosen some of the tension and tear it, Hulk style.

I decided to simply go right up the center of the shirt. I’d cut from my belly button up to my neck and go from there. With scissors open, I grabbed the hem of the shirt and began the process. It wasn’t going well. The scissors were dull, but I got a few slices into the bottom and yanked on the sides to tear it inch by inch. I had it torn to the middle of my stomach, directly under my monster uni-boob, when the door to the office opened. I startled, taking a step backwards and ramming into the side of the desk. I froze in place, my eyes large, as I grasped at the two sides of the t-shirt, obviously in the process of ripping myself out of it, and looked straight into the eyes of one very caught-off-guard Nico Crawford.

“What in the world?” Cole’s voice pulled me from staring at Nico over to where he was standing behind him looking over Nico’s shoulder.

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