I’m a bit nervous. Or scared. Or puzzled. Or something creepy feeling and unsure and skeptical.
My main squeeze and I are going to the Renaissance Festival this weekend.
Dressing up in full costume, as always.
(Because even though I’m not athletic, I’m gargantuanly competitive.)
(Go big-ass big, or go home.)
In the past, our hormonal teenager has called us the following for no reason other than the fact that she is 16 and that alone makes her so wise and worldly and knower of everything there is to know on the face of the Earth:
Out of Date
Then there is the ever-present eye-rolling and huffing and puffing at almost every move we make.
The reason I am feeling all that crap I started this off with?
She, out of the blue, asked if she could go with us this weekend.
(There goes my weekend of unladylike behavior and debauchery.)
(I don’t know what debauchery means and not even sure I spelled it right.)
I kinda crapped a little.
I mean, I love her and all…but this is my adult weekend to not be me and just throw caution and my bra to the wind.
(Don’t visualize that.)
I can be ridiculous to the hilt and no one cares. I can be silly and no one stares. I can use my fake British accent and no one knows any different.
(OK. We all know they do know different because my southern twang is so heavy there is no way I can pull off a Princess Diana accent. But I try and the more wine I have the better it gets.)
There’s a festival during the day and masquerade ball at night and you know I’m going to out royalty anyone who has ever thought of donning a tiara.
(I’m unsure on ‘donning’, too….roll with me.)
(NO ONE UNDER 21 ALLOWED AT NIGHT AND YOU MUST HAVE A MASQUERADE MASK TO ENTER.)
(Thank you, Jesus!! Finally. I am seeing being old pays off and I promise I won’t point and laugh and sing-song “You’re too young to get in! You’re too young to get in!!”)
(I kinda promise. Don’t be watching me around 8:00 Saturday night though, just in case.)
Why? Why would she want to waste a weekend with US??
Is this some kind of set up? Is this some kind of plot to make my right eye constantly twitch the whole weekend??
My reply was my mother shooting out of my mouth before I could even realize it:
“You can go, but there are rules. Not one condescending word is to leave your pie hole. You will have fun. You will laugh. You will smile. You will NOT roll your eyes at us and you will enjoy yourself whether you like it or not. You will question nothing we do and you will go in costume. Yes, you will dress up. I’m not paying for you to go in those stupid leggings that are not pants and a t-shirt. No. You WILL be in costume and you will like it.”
“Great! I’ve already picked out a costume from the theater department at school!! They said I could use it just to bring it back clean!”
I mean, I just KNEW the going-in-costume part was my saving grace. My way out without being an old school, out of date, nerdy loser.
My way of saying “NO!” without saying “NO!”
She can only go during the day to the festival. She can’t go at night to the masquerade ball. What’s the point?? Why waste a day when you gotta blow off the night?
Keith, my husband, thinks she secretly likes us and sees all the miserably ridiculous fun we have and wants a part of it.
Me? Not so much.
I was a 16-year-old girl once and hanging with the old folks was NOT my idea of a tea party.
(Unless that tea party was really a beer party in disguise. Then, fine.)
Then it hit me: SHE’S GOING BECAUSE OUR FRIENDS THAT ARE GOING ARE BRINGING THEIR KIDS FOR THE DAY AND THEY HAVE HOT SONS.
That’s my girl. There she is. She’s going so she can oogle the eye candy.
And all this time, I thought she was out to kill me. Ruin my life.
When really, she doesn’t give a rats ass if I’m there or not. Just as long as the hot dudes are.
I must be rubbing off on her.
(Thank you, Jesus!)