Unless one has been living under some sort of rock, it was pretty much common knowledge that the Royal Wedding of the century took place yesterday. In Thomasville, we certainly don't live underneath a rock, but that event was not nearly as important as the "local Ball" scheduled for last night; the Middle School (MS) Spring Dance.
Yep, let the Royals have their tradition and pageantry; for the MS-set, it's all about dressing nice and not being viewed as a social leper... Because Child normally goes to gymnastics on Friday nights, a proclamation was made in the kingdom of Thomasville that she would be given the night off from her 'acrobatic duties'. I mean, come on now, what 13 year-old girl wants to go to a dance smelling of her three hour workout, and wearing bits of foam from the resi pit in her hair? I rest my case... Not to mention the fact that simply getting ready for the MS Ball would probably take just as long as that three-hour practice anyway.
Because I'm an organization freak, I had Child choose her outfit the night before. There was much indecision as to whether go the dress route, or the pants route. After much consideration the pants won, and they were set aside with a coordinating shirt. Feeling pretty on top of things, I waited for Child to come to my car after school yesterday so we could return to the kingdom, and commence the process of getting ready. After saying goodbye for the next three hours to her BFFs, Child hurled her backpack, then herself, into my car:
Child : "Mommy, I changed my mind...I want to wear that dress now!"
Me: "Ummm...you are wearing the cami right now that is supposed to go underneath it. you and the cami just ran the mile... pppppuuuuuu.....How about the pants???"
Child: "______ is wearing a skirt, and I really want to. Pllleeeeasse????"
(After careful considertation and calculations of the evening's timetable, I determined that it would be possible if, and only if, Child turned it over immediately upon reaching the laundry room. While this would seem pretty easy, Child l-o-v-e-s to flit around quite a bit upon arrival in Thomasville. Time to see if we had a bargain..)
Me: "You have to give it to me right away!"
Child: "Okay!!! Thanks Mommy!!!"
Anyone remember that book, If You Give A Moose a Muffin? Well, now that the dress was going to be worn, sandals would need to be worn, as well. If sandals were to be worn, then some attention needed to be given to the unpolished toe nails. If the toe nails were going to look spiffy, then the finger nails (chipped from gymnastics grips) would also need touching-up... So much for my anal-retentive schedule:
Me: "Ooookay, the minute we walk in the door, after giving me that cami, you need to sit down for polish!"
Child: "Okay"
Anyone who knows me pretty well knows that I'm not into the whole makeup thing. I am so happy to report that I applied two coats of a most psychedlic purple polish to both finger, and toenails. For good measure, I even set the polish with a hair dryer on low heat. Just the act of this probably earned me boku "Mother's Day points."
So... after a nice shower, blowdry, hairstyling, it was time to put on the dress. Like her 'ol Mother, Child is pretty much a jeans-and-T kind of gal. Moving around in a dress adds, shall we say, a few challenges:
Child: (approaches ottoman to sit down and throws self down- per usual routine) "How do I look?"
Me: (not sure whether to laugh or cry, as time to learn dress decorum was of the essence) "Ummm... when you sit in a skirt, you need to gather it under your bottom, then sit slowly down. Also, you need to keep your knees together, or cross your legs."
Child: (a bit puzzled by that...) "Why?"
Father: (usually pretty quiet, but always ready to deliver a good gem when necessary) "You don't want the kids at the Dance to be getting a good view of your underwear, and then laughing about it at school on Monday."
Child: (ever the sassy and precocious) "Well, I'm not sitting....It's called a DANCE!"
(Husband and I just shook our heads and hoped for the best. I am happy to report that after a few dry runs in our driveway before leaving for the Ball, Child learned how to daintly get in and out of a vehicle)
Anywhoo.... we left the lovely kingdom of Thomasville, and picked up one of Child's Besties. "Bestie" was dressed a lot more casually than Child, but definitely appropriate. None of us were prepared for what the scene would be when we pulled up in front of the MS...
Apparently, there must have been some kind of meeting-of-the-minds that Bestie and Child were not privy to; every. darn. 7th. grade. girl. seemed. to. be. sporting. short. shorts. When I say short shorts, people, I am talking about ones that have an inseam of about -1 (if you want to read more of my rantings about this, check out previous blogs...). Niiiiiiiiiice... Oh well, at least our girls looked dance-appropriate. After making sure that the two teen-brain possessing girls safely crossed the street, Husband and I headed out for a quick dinner before we returned to pick up the girls. This would be where the "dive" comes in....
Because of the 90 minute window to arrive/sit/order/wait/eat/pay/leave/drive to MS, we decided that we would be best served staying close by. After mulling over some options, neither one of us was too enthusiastic. Husband then had a great brain fart- why didn't we go try Mama Mia's again?
Having grown up in the area, Mama Mia's was a local institution (you'll see the humor in this little bit of word play in a bit..stay with me...). They served "I"talian food that any corn-fed midwesterner would die for: salad drowning in dressing, garlic bread drowning in butter, and your average no-frills pizza. I had many family dinners there, starting at about the age of 5. Our little family hadn't been there in awhile, so Husband and I thought that it was worth another try.
Being the pessimist that I am, I told Husband tales of yore about how the restaurant would open at 5, and the parking lot would already be full. I warned him that if the wait was bad, we'd have to just pick up and go, as the teenage carriage turned into a pumpkin at sharply 8:30. As we pulled into the parking lot, there were a-l-o-t of empty parking spaces- on a rockin' Saturday night (sign #1). We took our pick of spots in the crumbling asphalt lot, and headed in.
When I say that a restaurant is "I"talian, what smell do you think should hit you as you enter? Red sauce? Pizza? Seafood, perhaps? Well, the first aroma that husband and I smelled was undiluted clorox bleach (sign #2). Being hungry, and short on time, we decided to overlook that little issue, and be seated. After a brief look at the menu, we decided on a salad to share, and a pizza. Now that the "hard work" of selecting the grub was completed, I was looking forward to sitting back and chatting for a bit with my man. Strangely enough, I could see my husband's mouth forming words, but the sound seemed to escape me. Was it simply that I am Middle-aged? Did I need a belltone hearing aid? Nope, not the case at all; turned out that all of my hearing problems could be attributed to "Thing 1" and "Thing 2".
Sitting immediately south of Husband and I was a booth filled with four chicks. They were pretty darn loud, at best. One of them, whom I shall affectionately refer to as "Thing 1" was quite obviously leashed to a cellphone. that. rang. constantly. Nevermind, her dining partners (or poor Husband and me), she proceeded to answer each and every call. Did I mention that the decibel level of Thing 1 on her cell phone was about equivalent to my Kitchen Aid Mixer on level 8???? This was not, however, the best part. Ever heard of a "drunk dial" (for you innocents out there, that is when an inebriated person gets on their cell and says a whole buch of dumb stuff he/she will never remember/admit to when sober)? Well, not only did Thing 1's caller appear to be drunk-dialing, she was also quite toasted, herself. So, basically, you've got a drunk moron on one end of the line who can't find his car keys(and is having a fit), and a drunk moronette on the other end of the line who is so plowed herself that she can't intellectually/emotionally deal with the situation- niiiiiiiiice, huh? I shot my best "death glare" in Thing 1's general direction; to no avail. Fun....
If Thing 1 wasn't disruptive enough, there was Thing 2 to deal with. Thing 2 was sitting at a booth with several dining partners about two booths south of Thing 1. I cannot give you any juicy details about what Thing 2 looked like as I never actually *saw* him....
Periodically, Thing 1 would stop yammering into her cell phone, and there would be a rare period of silence. As soon as Husband and I let out a collective sigh, there would be a loud, tourettish sounds coming from beyond Thing 1's booth. The first time it was audible, not only did Husband and I look around in abject horror, but a table full of senior citizens (on an evening trip out of the local assisted living) also stopped eating and looked around for the source of the disturbance. Like deer, Husband and I and the old folks sensed the danger had passed, and returned to eating the sub-par food; that is, until it happened again, and again, and again. Having not the greatest patience with fools, I was beginning to get a bit perturbed:
Me: (rolling eyes)"Is that Dude having a break with reality? Is he crazy?"
Husband: (being patient, and most perceptive) "________, he's just drunk!"
I've been in many situations over the years where people have had a bit too much, but this was just about as weird as it could possibly get. Fearing for our safety, I told Husband that we should probably get the check "pronto", in order to not be sharing the roads with Things 1 and 2. So, we paid our overpriced food bill, and hightailed it back to the MS.
When Child and Bestie emerged, they had happy tales to tell about their evening; I shared with them the "horror" story of our dinner. Bestie found it kind of funny, but not quite as funny as an expletive I shouted at a Ball particiapnt who jumped into the road in front of my vehicle...sigh...
All's well that ends well in Thomasville and beyond: Child and Bestie had a blast at their Ball, Prince William and Catherine( of whatever???) have been wed and me, well, I got more material for my blog. The End.
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