Holy, Hold On To Your Shorts!

The perfectly lovely homecoming dress

I will detract from my usual topics of soap, goats, festivals, animals, and recipes and reflect on motherhood. With the fall season comes football games, and with football games come homecoming dances. The Bean is now a ninth grader...gasp, sob, ugly, snotty, snort. This is her first year with a title, Freshman. It's also the first year that her grades count toward her future. We are now at the midway point of the first nine weeks, and I must say, there has been minimal focus on actual school work. Don't get me wrong, my child is meticulous about her grades...mostly. In most classes, she is carrying a 100% or more. She must get this trait from her dad because when I was in school, I was always way more worried about the weekend than what was happening at school. Anyhow, there has been a lot of focus on the upcoming homecoming dance. Sigh...

First, let me say that being a mom to a teenage girl is not for the weak. If you are already of weak mind, body, or spirit, these little harpies will break you down and eat you alive feet first so you can feel every tooth, bite, and tear of flesh. Teenage girls are scary. My bean, my darling girl, the queen of my heart, can create an element of fear so strong my belly turns cold, and my blood curdles. She's a delightful kid 90% of the time, but holy, hold on to your shorts when it goes dark. There has been a lot of darkness surrounding this homecoming dance thing.

I remember the days when The Bean was my mini-me. We liked the same things; we laughed at the same jokes; we shared the same ideals. Not anymore. Nope. There are days I think The Bean disagrees with me simply because she can. Dress shopping nearly did me in. Did you know that now girls buy multiple dresses, so they have a "backup dress?" Yes, as ridiculous as it sounds, they do. Some girls even buy three dresses, so they have a choice. I am the worst mom in the world because I did not jump on this train to Crazy Town and Ridiculousville. When I asked why one needs a "backup dress," I was told that if one of the dresses doesn't fit or the mood changes, or even better, perhaps one's friends don't like the dress, there needs to be a "backup dress." I am all about having options; I really am. However, I believe in my outdated, old-fashioned, Victorian-era mind that one chooses their options when...wait for it...you go shopping. Seriously, my WTF lines are so damn deep at this point they are like craters. There isn't a facial filler out there that can repair the damage inflicted from surviving the teen years with one's daughter. I will forever have a furrow between my eyebrows that screams, I earned my WTF lines in 2023 when my daughter was 14!

Not only am I unpopular because of my archaic belief that one finds "a" dress, note the singular dress, when shopping, but I also have very ancient beliefs that a fourteen-year-old girl should not A) look like a stripper in training B) have the majority of the skin on their body covered C) a dress should cover one's private areas when one is seated and D) not cost more than my wedding gown. Egads! I am unreasonable! No offense to professional dancers intended, but I don't want my little bean looking like she is ready to take her turn on the stripper pole. I also don't want her back bared for the world to see, her front, or her nether regions. Let's be honest; nobody wants to sit in a chair that somebody's vag has been resting upon...thank you, my sweet and funny friend Christina for this point. I also don't believe that a dress for a three-hour dance should cost more than the dress I wore when I entered the institution, albeit a psych ward, of wedded bliss. Although it has been pointed out to me that "waaaaaay back then, everything was cheap, and the cost of living has increased by like a million times...duh!" Insert an eye roll here.

Oh, and don't get me started about the ridiculousness of a "hoco-posal!" Whatever happened to a fourteen-year-old asking another fourteen-year-old if they wanted to go to a dance through a friend? If one is a very confident fourteen-year-old, one asks said prospective date to go to the dance face-to-face. Now, there has to be a huge display made of asking someone to go to a dance. Often, there are posters, crowds, flowers, and candles. What happens when these kids grow up and get engaged? No grand declarations of love will be available because they have all been used for hoco and prom. I was engaged five times, and not one of the guys I dated took the time to plan an outlandish proposal. Most just dropped to one knee and asked my dad for permission. A) Apparently, I only dated lazy, unimaginative men. B) By the time Eric asked my dad for permission, he was like, eye-roll, here we go again..." Sure, why not? Hopefully, this one works out, so she's not my problem anymore." This "hoco-posal thing" just baffles me.

With only two more weeks to go until the big homecoming dance, we have come to a truce about the dress. It is a perfectly lovely dress that covers all necessary body parts. It is a dress befitting a classy and confident fourteen-year-old girl, and it was reasonably priced. I was thrilled when the dress arrived. I couldn't wait to see The Bean's face when she saw it for the first time. I was disappointed with her reaction. Rather than see the dress for the beautiful, sparkly, light blue creation it is, she nitpicked it apart. I was ready to smack the insolent look off her lovely little face. I refrained from said acts of violence and went to my soap studio to lament to The Bibbed Wonder. It's a good thing we don't get frustrated over the same things. He talked me down, and I braced myself for the barrage of teenage angst that was to come.

Fortunately, one Janet P. Walker, Teenage Girl Expert, is on standby to fix everything wrong with the dress my daughter picked out herself. I don't know what I would do if it weren't for the village of strong, intelligent, capable, and patient women who see me through the land mines of teen angst. To date, The Bean declares the sleeves must be removed from the dress because it looks "Too 1980s Prom-ish." It needs to be taken in because God forbid she should have any breathing room. The back of the dress has to be altered because she can feel it rub against her legs when she walks... versus, what, her ass hanging out? And it needs to be shortened; ah, guess what? Not a centimeter of material will be removed from said dress length. I am much more masterful at pissing contests than my fourteen-year-old opponent. Bring it, Bean!

If I survive the first homecoming, and at this point, it's a really big if, I have three more to look forward to. It's going to be a long road. I am stubborn and "bull-headed," sadly, I think my child may be more stubborn and bull-headed than I am. I thought I had met my match when I met The Bibbed Wonder; however, I believe my bean will put us both to shame. I am indeed holding onto my shorts with both hands and white knuckles.

On this gorgeous fall day, stay safe, be smart, don't allow your children to turn into teenagers, it just might kill you, and keep washing your hands.