Anatomy of a Dance

6:50pm-"Hurry up, mom. We have to pick up S. before the game. It starts at 7:30pm."
"It's ten 'til 7. It takes five minutes to get to her house. If we leave now you'll be too early."
"Nooo. We have to go now."
"Okay." I'd rather drop them off early then listen to anxious whining by my child for the next half hour. I've been down this road before.

7pm-The drive to the game is filled with non stop chatter. Was I this loud at that age? Surely not. I'm sure I wasn't. Well, maybe a little. Hmm. Probably just as loud.

8:50pm-I drive back to the school to pick up the girls so they can change into their dresses. The parking lot is a maze of hazards like poorly parked cars and careless teenagers ambling around in search of each other. Whoo. This brings back a lot of memories. I had forgotten how big of a deal that first Homecoming dance was.

9pm-The drive back home is filled with loud rap on the radio and giggling...incessant giggling. Where does it all come from? Can it be bottled for use on a later, more depressing day?

9:15pm-I peruse the web, my ears are filled with the sounds of teenage girls giggling their way through preparations for their first high school dance. "Oh my God!" (insert Valley Girl voice-and if you don't know what that is then you're too young to be reading this) "Zip me up!" "What makeup are you wearing?" Close your eyes and imagine high pitched voices rattling like boiling tea kettles stopping only long enough for a dramatic pause or a scream of excitement. Picture flying hangers and shoes, scattered makeup containers and hair, hair hair. There is way too much energy in this house for this hour. Way too many voices and way, way too little bathroom. Lord help me, I don't have the strength for this tonight. It's been a long week. I think Hubby is going to have to pick them up later on. My energy..is...gone.

9:45pm-The drive back to the school is punctuated by "Shook Me All Night Long" on the radio. We bond over a little AC/DC, all of us singing loudly to a song that played during my first Homecoming. How ironic. Ah, the memories are rampant tonight.

9:48pm-The girls bound from the van in a hurry to get to the action. "Bye! Love you!" Followed by my "Be good. Have a good time." They hardly look back. Sigh. That phase has begun. You know, the moving forward, hardly looking back at mom and dad stage.

10:33pm-I set the alarm for 12:15am for Hubby so he won't sleep through his shuttle duty. I'm going to bed now. I'm sure I'll hear all about it in the morning. For now, I'm off to dream about a certain satin outfit, a little AC/DC and a little dance we liked to call The Hustle. And maybe a certain boy with braces. I smile because Teen Angel will be dreaming tonight, too.

Dressed to Kill

I have decided that the only thing more frustrating than trying on dresses is shopping with a teenaged girl for a party dress. I have previously documented my angst over buying dresses for myself, but I hit an all new level of frustration this past weekend while shopping with Teen Angel for a Homecoming dress. It is Homecoming at the various schools in this area, so the stores were full of moms and daughters duking it out over dresses. Whew! The tension in the mall was as thick as my eyebrows.

Teen Angel is not allowed to date until she’s 16. Well, her dad says 23, but I think that’s a little overboard. He just remembers how hormonal he was at that age, and it scares the bejesus out of him. Anyway, she’ll be going to this dance with a gaggle of girls. I say gaggle because they’re just as loud and vocal as a group of geese. Apparently, they dress up for Homecoming now a little more than we did back in the pioneer days known as the late 70’s. Disco was still in during my freshman year, so I wore a white satin shirt, satin pants, satin ballcap and a green satin purse to my first Homecoming. Oh, and Candies platforms. I wish I had a picture to share because you would all get a huge laugh out of that ensemble. Teen Angel said it’s MUCH different now adays. She didn’t like my idea of a nice fall jacket and gauchos that could be worn throughout the season so off we headed to the dress department for something I hoped might have a slim chance of being worn more than once and wasn’t going to cost as much as a new Harley.



We discovered long lines in dressing rooms and racks and racks of stuff that seemed way too sexy for young teens. Who designs this stuff? Certainly not someone who has a teenaged daughter or else the tops of these dresses would have much more material. And it seems most of these little rags come in teeny, tiny sizes designed to fit only the anorexic. That led to two hours of “I’m fat” when in fact she isn’t, but it sure made her feel that way. Nothing I said made a difference. I’m old and stupid, you know. And some of the prices were downright ridiculous. Just when I was about to pull my hair out, and I had reached the end of my patience, something wonderful happened. I ran to the restroom in the midst of a marathon fitting/debate session and came back to the dressing room to find Teen Angel standing in a perfectly fitting, lovely dress that looks grown up, but not trashy. And she liked it. And it was on sale. Ah. Finally, something we agreed upon. With a $29 shrug (that makes mom happy because it can be worn with many things) and an inexpensive pair of black flats, we were done. And I didn’t have to have a margarita after all. I almost fell to my knees in J.C. Penney’s weeping a Sweet Jesus prayer. I whispered it silently instead. I had already caused Teen Angel enough embarrassment for one day just by walking beside her in public for an extended period of time. My relief was short lived, though. I realized that with an average of four dances a year, and with her entire high school years ahead of us, we will have to go through this FIFTEEN more times. About that margarita…