Saturday, June 13, 2009

Sabotage, thy name is Mom

I don't think it's a secret that I would prefer it if we lived in a completely segregated society where boys couldn't get anywhere near my daughter and girls couldn't get within a brick wall and barbed wire fence of my son. Unfortunately, that's called a CULT and is frowned on by most. That being said, I insist that other preventative measures must be taken. Applying butter to their faces while they sleep to clog their pores, hiding their deodorant, filling their shampoo bottles with mayonnaise...there are many ways, grasshopper. This mom knows.

Becca's youth group has the right idea: boys are red, girls are blue, and there shall be NO PURPLING. But that doesn't mean there aren't shades of violet and a wee bit of perriwinkle every now and then. Nice try, Church Lady.

Matthew's school has a rule against "flirting", and their definition of "flirting" is wonderfully hazy and abundantly unclear, thus confusing the awkward 12 and 13 year olds, and making this mom very happy. Matthew says, "Mom, I got talked to by Mr. X today because he says I was flirting with (*insert harlot's name here*) but all I was doing was asking her for a pencil." I reply, "You need to be more responsible. You're grounded."

The guy who does our yard (I can't call him our "yard boy" because that may imply that he is a hot Latin gardener in nothing but 501s and work boots...and he's not that kind of yard guy at ALL) has been bringing a helper, a strapping fellow about 18 years old. Becca and her friends press their faces against the livingroom window and watch him. I stand in the next room with a sign pressed to the window, "My scissors + your balls = don't be a hero, boy."

So far, my subterfuge has prevented Becca from making any progress whatsoever towards dating. However, my 17 year old niece already has a boyfriend. I consider that my own personal failure. I will not let it happen again.

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