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So, it goes like this . . .
My daughter comes back from her second prom last night, two o’clock in the morning.
It’s tough when you look freaking amazing.
And, she had a fabulous time.
It reminds me of when I was back in high school, although I did not go to my senior prom. I had just broken up with my boyfriend, and figured that he was not worth spending an entire night with, much less a bunch of money on, just to go to prom.
So did I miss anything? Isn’t it just an over glorified dance?
I don’t think I missed anything by not dancing the hoochy-koo with my ex-boyfriend in a gym filled with bad teenage decorations.
I remember watching in an Oprah show on mothers that would do anything to make sure that their daughters are able to go to prom. Because these mothers, had missed their proms and felt like their lives were lacking as a result… of missing prom.
Chill everybody… it’s just freaking prom.
It’s just a dance.
Granted, it’s a nice memory. Nothing to get your whole life worked up over.
These moms were putting ads in local newspapers, spreading the word, even paying some of these boys to take their daughters to prom. Just because they, themselves, felt like they had missed out on something that was life-changing.
Isn’t that sad?
These women… and at least their 40s, were still hanging on to the fact that they hadn’t gone to prom… and they were going to make damn sure that their daughters didn’t have that same baggage.
Frankly, I don’t think their daughters would’ve had that baggage unless that baggage was suggested to them by their own mothers.
It’s just prom. Right? Am I missing something here?
I don’t think so.
Now, I knew that all my friends were at the party having a good time.
And, I was a little blue that wasn’t there. It’s true.
And then… I got over it.
I got to spend time with my irritating brother, and my silly dad, and my good-cooking mom.
Not too bad… really. They’re great people.
So, I’m glad to say that my daughter went to her second prom. And she had a great time at each prom, but had she not had a date she would’ve gone alone… and still had a great time.
This is the beauty of the modern teenager… That in this day and age you can go to prom by yourself. You don’t have to bring in three-eyed cousin from Nebraska just to be your date.
When I was going to prom… you did not go alone. Period. End of Story. That’s it folks. No Hans Solo.
And, all those women that were on the Oprah show, I believe that they were not “socially allowed” to go alone either. That there was some stigma attached to just hang with your friends at a big dance.
Luckily, with the progression of civilization we have accepted the fact that people can have fun alone… without a date… just hanging with your friends.
Thank god we have made major strides.
Oprah moms. Get over it.
Move on, Moth-ah!
Graduate from high school.
I am here to tell you there is life after prom.
Finalist in Broad Humor Film Festival Screenwriting Contest — Announcing “PICKLED TINK” — Screwball Comedy Screenplay! Belle Karper, Award-Winning Author, Screenwriter, Speaker, Humor, Comedy, Suspense, Tragedy www.BelleKarper.com
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So, it goes like this . . .
So, I’m sitting at the game. The soccer game. The sport that my son loves, and is “uber” talented at.
What a fricking irritating word that is… “uber?”
Since I’m not from Europe I don’t feel like I have the right to use it.
Uber. Uber. Uber.
Screw it. I’m feeling more European already. I have the unshaved legs to prove it.
Furthermore, my husband is sitting next to me… He reminds me that I neglected to shower today.
But, I love this dingleberry, but he still a little bit of a Doo-Doo… for reminding me.
What can I say?
This is the second day in a row that we’ve had to wake up so early in the morning after a Friday night and Saturday night of partying, but I just didn’t have it in me to wake up early enough to take a shower this morning.
So… I’m a little shtinky.
I want to make a formal apology to everybody that had to sit near me.
So here it is…
Did you hear it?
It was faint, I know.
But, it was there. I assure you. I swear on a stack of Victoria’s Secret catalogs that I apologized… for being “gamey” at the game.
Will you forgive me?
I just want you all to know that I put on extra deodorant…
And, a lot of strong perfume spraying was going on in my bathroom before we left.
Only the strongest perfume, I might add.
And, only the best.
When I stink, I smell good doing it, at least.
And, I wore a hat, so that the strands of my hair would be tethered down instead of full flare in the bright of the morning sun.
No hair flaring, right?
I’ve got it covered, y’all.
I’m not going to embarrass anybody here.
People tend not to sit next to me anyway because I’m the loudest one on the field.
IS THIS A FRICKING SURPRISE HERE?
People from the other side of the field are still talking about some of my comments…
NORMALLY …. I am the person cheering the loudest for BOTH sides of the team. When someone makes an excellent play — I cheer for it, despite which side they are on. I am the token parent that is always yelling “Go! Team! Go!” Ever present for every move that they make on the field. I don’t care if they make a bad play, I just keep yelling, “Keep on kicking! Keep up the pressure! You guys are great!”
I can’t help it… it’s in my blood.
I was a cheerleader in Junior High, High School, and at the University of Arizona — Baby, it is in my blood!
However, today… something happened…
Well, I tried to be polite by giving that kid from the other team the ball when it almost hit me, but when he found out that it was “our” throw in, he kicked it away from our boys and me…
I can’t help that I happen to call him a “dickhead.”
Just like he can’t help being one, I suppose…
But, that was just a rude thing to do…
Here I was being kind, and all… to the other team, I want to remind you… and here, the little “dickhead” kicked the ball away from everybody when “nanny-nanny-boo-boo” he found out that it wasn’t “their” throw in…
They are in high school and old enough to know better…
My husband is still trying to convince me (in front of my son) and I didn’t actually mean to call him a “dickhead.”
And, I keep telling my husband, also in front of my son, that I DID intend to call him a “dickhead”… It’s just that I DIDN’T intend for the other side to hear it…
Including the parents across the field…
Evidently, they heard it, too.
My son was laughing when he heard it, and shot the opposing procreators “a look” when they gasped at my social faux pas.
Pardon me… but my subconscious seems to have belched…
I’m going to blame it on the fact that I didn’t shower today. That the little stinky part leapt into my brain, and caused me to do wild and unspeakable actions… even though they are irrepressibly true…
I can’t help it that my voice carries…
Dang, I hate that when that happens…
Yeah… Well, I just wanted to tell you all that my son’s team, that really does play a clean game of soccer (seriously folks, I am not making this up) that his team won the 35th Annual Best Sportsmanship Medal for the entire League today…
This is TRUE and they are deserving.
They are THE BEST.
Despite my “dickhead” comment…
Now, I am going to leave it open here as to whether you think I am calling myself a “dickhead” in that last line of relaying this story to you…
Maybe, I’m feeling a little bad here.
Maybe he’s a great kid… depsite me??!!
Waaaa-aaah-ahhhh … aaahh (this is me crying…) Sniff… sniff…
I can’t help that I am only human… a human mom… with feelings… and energies… and a fricking mouth…. Waaaa-aaah-ahhhh … aaahh (this is me STILL crying…) Sniff… sniff…
I am so proud of he and his teammates for rising above the name calling on… sniff, sniff… (and evidently off) the field…
Love me… in spite of me!… 😉
S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
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