“Time for Macy’s annual swimsuit sale already?” the Big Guy said, flipping the television channels during a break in the Rockets playoff game.

“No. I’m skipping that this year. Merlotta’s sewing ours. She got a great deal on slightly used blue tarps. It’s time for cheerleading tryouts and Cat is going out for the seventh grade squad.”

The Big Guy nearly spilled his beer. The last time that happened was when the doctor delivered Pinot and Grigio. After steadying his Pabst Blue Ribbon, The Big Guy channel-hopped back to the game just as the Power Dancers bumped and grinded their way onto center court. They sure had a lot of power but not much in the way of clothing. He looked at the screen, then at Cat, and then tried doling out a teachable moment.

“Real cheerleaders usually wear more than a handkerchief, and they don’t bust moves that make men dribble beer down their chins,” he said in his Cliff Huxtable voice.

“Dad, it’s a middle school tryout. Kids. Get real.” It’s amazing how far back into her head she can roll those eyes. “Oh, and two things: First, don’t say ‘bust moves.’ That’s so lame, coming from an old guy. Second, what’s a handkerchief?”

Lesson learned. The Big Guy switched channels to the Astros.

Admittedly, it surprised me when Cat told us she was trying out for cheerleading. Maybe she didn’t realize cheers weren’t texted. Being the supportive Contessa that I am, I offered my help.

“Mom, I said cheerleading, not beerleading.Maybe it’s time you got that hearing aid,” she muttered.

“Maybe it’s time you scrubbed toilets.” Besides, I told her, I was a cheerleader in the seventh grade.

“Eeeewww. What did you cheer for, chariot races?”

I handed her Ty-D-Bol and a scrub brush.

It had been a few years since my cheerleading days, so I asked Cat what would be required of the girls. She explained they would have to jump up and down, be loud and enthusiastic. No problem. She and all the other girls who’ve ever attended a Jonas Brothers concert had that going for them.

Cat also said cheerleading would take determination, dedication, and perseverance. Good to know all those hours spent explaining the coolness factor in a T-Mobile Sidekick weren’t wasted.

Actually, Cat might have an advantage. Earlier in the year, she won a dance-off at the youth club.

“I don’t know what I did to win; I don’t even remember my moves,” she explained after out-strutting 100 other kids to win top honors and a free slice of pizza. “All I know is I went wild.” Great. That’s probably what the girls in those spring break videos told their parents.

Actually, there may be something to this cheerleading quest. Cat focused, listened to instructions, and worked hard at following through on the details. Maybe the rest of the family could benefit from a little cheering on by the Contessa. A few chants come to mind:

Two bits, four bits, six bits a dollar,

Turn off your phone, or I’ll holler.

Two bits, four bits, six bits a dollar,

Go walk Bongo, here’s his leash and collar.

Two bits, four bits, six bits a dollar,

Your room’s a pig pen, so why not waller?

Of course, Contessa and her friends could have their own cheer:

Two sips, four sips, six sips a slug,

All with wine, stand up and chug.

Danielle Schaaf is the coauthor of “Don’t Chew Jesus!” and can be reached at hauteflashcontessa@yahoo.com. She’s currently working on her second book, “ Fold Your Own Damn Laundry!”