It’s irritating when people have children or teach school and then all they do is talk about that. But then you accidentally have a toddler or end up teaching adolescents in an island country, and then out of the incessant boredom, something happens, and then you want to share that because you think it’s funny, but it’s probably not. Still, here I go…
I play soccer for 30 minutes every day after lunch with the boys at my school. And I bought my professional clothing at the gap in 2009. So some things are a little stretched out, and I’m fat. Heads up: Do not pre-order my diet book. Spoiler Alert: convenience store meals make you fat. One upside, though, I have this one dress that used to fit that wraps across my chest and now that it’s become really tight, I find myself kind of liking the compression sensation; sitting at my desk one day I was thinking, oh, I see why babies like being swaddled, it’s kind of soothing. But the rest of the shirts that I picked up on the sale rack in ’09 have not aged the way I would have hoped for.
So, I’m playing soccer, and I’m guarding this boy whose about chest height and he can’t get passed me, and he goes, “Maroni Oppai bura bura.” And he giggles and giggles and then gets around me and scores. So Maroni is my name Maloney, and Oppai is breasts and bura bura…..I’ve heard it before….it means to go here and there without a plan.
Like sometimes in the hallway I ask the kids where are you going because that’s my job, to communicate with them in English, and then sometimes they say bura bura because they’re not going anywhere special, and that’s their job, not to learn any English while in school. So I look bura bura up on the Internet, having a vague idea that it was not going to be a compliment and the Internet comes up with the definition: to swing. So that boy, said something like, “Maloney’s boobs go swingy, swingy.”
It’s become a sort of catch phrase at the school, and now when there’s a lull and you want to cheer up your school mates, one only needs to pull out Maroni Oppai bura bura and everyone’s spirits are lifted. I’ve noticed really fast, or really slow, both ways are pretty funny ways to deliver it.
So, I guess my bra is a little stretched out. So I wrote a little note to myself: Wear sports bra tomorrow, and then I wore it, but no one even noticed that I’d gone out of my way. There was still some bura bura going on. I guess my sports bra is stretched out, too. So now I have to use my up coming birthday money to import a new sports bra.
At school when I run up the steps, I think “bura-bura.” The word bura bura has a reappearing role in my internal monologue. Down the steps: “Bura-bura.” I’m running before seven a.m. to catch one of three trains I need to take to get to a job where no one respects me and I pretty much make minimum wage: “bura-bura, bura-bura, bura-bura.”
On Friday I heard some onomatopoeia describing the way my ass moves. With all the authority I could muster I told them to knock it off. I can’t bear to look up what they were saying. I can’t afford to buy new pants right now.