I went to my niece Sarah's bachelorette party Saturday night.
Because I'm so super cool, and all the youngsters want to hang with me.
My sister (her mother) went too. You gotta love this younger generation...I would have died of an apoplectic fit if someone presented me with a phallus shaped cake in front of my mother... And I'm pretty sure my mother is cringing that I just typed phallus on my blog...
Anyway, Sarah has some very lovely little friends. We all presented her with our lovely "personal" gifts, divvied up the tacky phallus shaped suckers (which I discovered in my purse the next morning as I was getting out a pen to take notes on the sermon. I kid you not, I started blushing, sweating, and had to fight off an attack of the giggles right then and there), then headed to Olive Garden for feasting and more fun.
My sister & I rode together, as this gave us a chance to catch up and kept us from raining on the youngster's parade of giggling and chitter chatter.
However, when we got to the restaurant, and went to be seated, I was disconcerted to realize that Dawn & I were going to be on opposite ends of the table. I immediately started to feel beads of sweat pop out in my armpits...I was going to be forced to entertain these young ladies whom I have just met. Because, you understand that I must entertain them, right? I must engage them in conversation. I must find out about each of their faith backgrounds (Church of Christ, Baptist, Nondenominational), and I must find out their major, where they are from, and what their plans for life in general are...
Because for some unknown reason, this is the roll that I have given myself...Why? I do not know.
Please. Refrain from telling me that I should have shut my yapper and left them to their own devices. That is completely counterproductive to this story.
So, this sweet, lovely young girl is telling me about her life, and her mom who's dating a Muslim, but she is Christian, and how she was the nerdy band kid in high school who learned every single brass instrument, and when she goes home now, her classmates are like "Wow! Look at you! You've really changed."
Isn't it great that we can move away and escape the stereo types we fell into in high school?
So, this sweet girl is telling me all about her high school life, and at some point she shares with me that "I was even a Junior Girls Scout."
I'm sorry, but you are about to learn how shallow I am....
I burst out laughing.
And, that's not all...
Oh, it gets worse.
I said, "Honey, you weren't 'nerdy' because you were in band...You were 'nerdy' because you were a girl scout until you were a junior in high school!" (Gentle Reader, there was not one drop of alcohol involved in this evening for which I can blame my blabber mouth. Not one.)
Then, I was immediately ashamed, and felt terrible. My size 11 shoe was in my mouth, and I was gnawing on my ankle...
But, thankfully she just laughed and said, "No, not a junior in high school. I became a Junior Girl Scout in 6th grade. Then, I dropped out."
And, to that I replied, "Oh. Well, thank goodness. I was just imagining you going to high school in your band uniform one day, then in your girl scout uniform on another day. I was pretty sure you were dooming yourself to be picked on."
Yes. I'm sure that made it all better...