She had to jump through all this hoops. Being nice to people she despised, being humble when she has had success, wearing clothes that hindered a normal movement, not being too loud, not being too forward – she was a woman.
If you look through the hoop, you can see another universe. Nobody really thinks of going there, mind you. It’s merely amusing that you can see those green-and-blue people, weeping great tears, going about their lives without knowing we are watching. Sometimes I put the hoop on a nail on the wall. Other times I take it out and spin it on the road like a Victorian child.
I grew up in an age when crinolines were worn. Those uncomfortable, elastic waisted, shaped like inverted tea cups, things that replaced half-slips to be worn under skirts. I took three buses each morning in those damn things. Finally I rebelled and wore jeans to the UCLA campus. My mother was crying when I left home for the first bus. She thought I’d be expelled. But those crinolines, and putting them on after swim class in UCLA’s unheated pool, then running up 73 steps to get to the Physics building, racing up two flights to my class with 45 boys and me, always late, never understanding? Bad enough my hair was wet and tangled. I did not get expelled. Within a week, I counted at least 5 girls in jeans. Then more, then more. I wonder what I would have done if hoops wore worn in those days? Hoop di di, la di da, I suppose.
Hoop hoop hoop
I thread between the loops
Step by step
Looks a little scary up ahead
And for a second I might think
How lovely it would be
To just rest in one hoop
Sitting comfortably, no thinking
No bothering, no worrying
How wonderful life could be
When only one hoop there would be
And wish I could stay
But then again
It gets a little thin
And suddenly, no air
Oh, but I do wish to stay!
No place for me here, though.
I’ve grown too different
The hoop won’t fit
I must skip
And yes, it’s scary not to stay
Hoop hoop hoop
And to the next loop
Tired of jumping through hoops, Dianne packed her bags and left. The Hula Hoop wouldn’t fit in the suitcase, so she just dragged it along behind her. All was well until a policeman dragged her back home and told her mother.
I jumped through the hoop. I mean, if the hula hoop fell down and theres just a big circle perfect for you to jump into, why wouldn’t you? I sure would. Anyway, seeing stuff like that always makes me want to jump through.
The basketball boys were gathered around, waiting for the three point contest to begin. The coach appeared and stepped in front of the boys. “This is going to be easy boys. Just put the ball in the hoop. Don’t let me down. This decides your future.”
Mrs. Semple wore a golden hoop in each ear, and she claimed she was an expert hula hooper in her youth. I was ready for her to brag that she could shoot hoops, too, but she never mentioned basketball in all the times we had tea together.
I was heating up the kettle when she came down with a cough. I held her hand as we went to the emergency room together. She wore silver hoops in her ears that night.
The hoop was just too small for her hips. She tried several times, with more zest each time, but in the end the hoop won. She was beautiful. She was one of the prettiest girlfriends I have had in several years. But if the hoop doesn’t fit, it’s just not going to go any further.
A car is passing by and someone is crossing the street at the same time. A person near him just grabbed him saying hoop a car is passing.
She had to jump through all this hoops. Being nice to people she despised, being humble when she has had success, wearing clothes that hindered a normal movement, not being too loud, not being too forward – she was a woman.
Hello!
Hello!
Hello!
If you look through the hoop, you can see another universe. Nobody really thinks of going there, mind you. It’s merely amusing that you can see those green-and-blue people, weeping great tears, going about their lives without knowing we are watching. Sometimes I put the hoop on a nail on the wall. Other times I take it out and spin it on the road like a Victorian child.
I grew up in an age when crinolines were worn. Those uncomfortable, elastic waisted, shaped like inverted tea cups, things that replaced half-slips to be worn under skirts. I took three buses each morning in those damn things. Finally I rebelled and wore jeans to the UCLA campus. My mother was crying when I left home for the first bus. She thought I’d be expelled. But those crinolines, and putting them on after swim class in UCLA’s unheated pool, then running up 73 steps to get to the Physics building, racing up two flights to my class with 45 boys and me, always late, never understanding? Bad enough my hair was wet and tangled. I did not get expelled. Within a week, I counted at least 5 girls in jeans. Then more, then more. I wonder what I would have done if hoops wore worn in those days? Hoop di di, la di da, I suppose.
Hoop hoop hoop
I thread between the loops
Step by step
Looks a little scary up ahead
And for a second I might think
How lovely it would be
To just rest in one hoop
Sitting comfortably, no thinking
No bothering, no worrying
How wonderful life could be
When only one hoop there would be
And wish I could stay
But then again
It gets a little thin
And suddenly, no air
Oh, but I do wish to stay!
No place for me here, though.
I’ve grown too different
The hoop won’t fit
I must skip
And yes, it’s scary not to stay
Hoop hoop hoop
And to the next loop
Tired of jumping through hoops, Dianne packed her bags and left. The Hula Hoop wouldn’t fit in the suitcase, so she just dragged it along behind her. All was well until a policeman dragged her back home and told her mother.
Hello!
Hello!
I jumped through the hoop. I mean, if the hula hoop fell down and theres just a big circle perfect for you to jump into, why wouldn’t you? I sure would. Anyway, seeing stuff like that always makes me want to jump through.
The basketball boys were gathered around, waiting for the three point contest to begin. The coach appeared and stepped in front of the boys. “This is going to be easy boys. Just put the ball in the hoop. Don’t let me down. This decides your future.”
Mrs. Semple wore a golden hoop in each ear, and she claimed she was an expert hula hooper in her youth. I was ready for her to brag that she could shoot hoops, too, but she never mentioned basketball in all the times we had tea together.
I was heating up the kettle when she came down with a cough. I held her hand as we went to the emergency room together. She wore silver hoops in her ears that night.
The hoop was just too small for her hips. She tried several times, with more zest each time, but in the end the hoop won. She was beautiful. She was one of the prettiest girlfriends I have had in several years. But if the hoop doesn’t fit, it’s just not going to go any further.