My daughter's friends know I write a blog, in fact most of them follow it, so when they gather en masse at our house and discuss in strident tones the various topics I will reveal here, they must know that they are fair game.
This evening's debacle began with an innocent question from Lindsay a couple of days ago "Can Tori come over after school on Thursday and watch a movie?" I had no problem with that as long as she was up to date with her homework. I do remember however, asking at the time "Is it only Tori ? What about everyone else in your posse?" No, categorically it was only Tori coming over, apparently no one else was interested. Of course I knew that was going to change, and sure enough, the next day I get a text "Can MC come to ?" By this time I've totally forgotten about the arrangements for Thursday evening, and a confusing conversation is haltingly texted back and forth. Between my cursed fat fingers and Lindsay's incomprehensible abbreviations I don't think either one of us had a clue what the other was on about, but somehow it turned out I unwittingly agreed to throwing in a pizza along with the movie.
Today when I was out and about I get several texts in quick succession " Can Diana come too?" followed by "and Tess?" and then "We have to eat early because MC has a dentist appointment". By now we are almost up to the full complement of the posse, which I had kind of assumed might happen, and as suspected the rest showed up anyway. No problem, I can handle this.
I thought teenage boys ate a lot of groceries, they have nothing on teenage girls. As soon as the first group walk in the door, they head straight to the kitchen, and then not one, not two but a chorus of three voices float down to me "Is there anything to eat ?" A loaf of bread and half a jar of peanut butter later, it is time to get down to business. This is when the fun starts. Bear in mind that these conversations are carried on in the kitchen, while Rob is trying to work a few steps away.
I will not use names, although I am sorely tempted, but they know who they are. First up for discussion was underwear, or at least lack there of and which of these bevy of girls go commando. Did I ever get a few surprises! Now you understand why I am not naming names! From underwear they moved on to shaving, and started comparing who had the prickliest legs, I think they stopped at the removal of underarm hair, much to Rob's relief. Even with two daughters, he is not used to this intimate level of discussion.
The second horde of girls breezed in, this was like the D-Day landings in Normandy, as wave after wave of teenagers arrived at our door. After much shrieking and clamouring - it seems the only way they can carry on multiple conversations is at top volume, with each successive announcement louder than the previous, a sudden silence fell over the house. I called up to Rob (I'm not stupid, I hid in the basement) to find out what had happened, only to be told they had moved up to the bathroom to remove blackheads on each others backs. To borrow the teenage vernacular, Eeew! Gross!. When I was that age, my friends and I wouldn't even admit to having blackheads on our backs, never mind "Here, have a go at popping them". Lindsay has only just started Grade 10, what the hell can I expect over the next two years?
I have to give these girls credit for one thing, I was hitting a dry spell with my blog, but not anymore. So this goes out to a lovely group of girls; (in no particular order) Hannah, Mary-Clare, Diana, Tess & Tori, with many thanks for the inspiration !
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