No one ever thinks you’re serious when you offer to trade your children to them in exchange for a puppy, at least not when the children in question are teenagers.
And, since the twins turned 13 earlier this month, I am now officially the mother of three of those beastly little soul-sucking demons otherwise known as teens. That’s right – I no longer have any babies. No kids, no children left. All three of mine are now teenagers. And I really do think having a puppy would be easier. Case in point:
I had to stop at the grocery store yesterday to pick up a few things. I remembered a couple of weeks ago that one of the twins had mentioned she was out of "feminine hygiene products," but, being new to the whole regime, she is still a little embarrassed to talk about it. So, when she told me she was out, she told – no, that’s not exactly correct. She ordered me not to tell anyone. However, I couldn’t remember when, exactly, we’d had that conversation. Had I been to the store since then? Was she still out? Did I need to pick some up?
So as we passed by the "feminine products" aisle in the grocery store, and I was reminded me of the earlier conversation, I said to her, "Do you still need...um..." (caught myself just in time!) "...girl stuff?"
"Yes!" she hissed, rolling her eyes wildly from side to side, searching for evesdroppers.
"What kind?" I asked.
"The same kind as last time!" she said with great exasperation. Apparently she was also practicing her ventriloquism technique because her lips barely moved, despite the vehemence of her statement.
The other twin is looking back and forth between us as if she were following a tennis match, totally bewildered. Finally she asked what was going on.
"Oh," I said, "apparently, your sister is too embarrassed by normal human bodily functions to actually use appropriate biological terms, so instead we have to use code words."
"Oooohhhh," that twin said, understanding dawning.
"MOM!!!" the other twin wailed. I am still mystified how she managed to drag that word out into six syllables. "You promised not to tell anyone! You are SO rude!!" And off she stomped through the grocery store.
Well, I threw a package of said "girl stuff" into the cart and chased down Her Royal Highness, my Drama Queen, and proceeded to have a little chat with her about it being a perfectly normal, natural thing that no one even thought twice about, and that everyone there either had one, would have one, or knew someone who had or would have one, and that she was drawing more attention to herself by running away and flouncing off through the aisles of the grocery store while in high dudgeon than if she’d just treat it like it was no big deal.
“Well, you’re just rude,” she said.
Silly me. I then tried to explain how, in 40 years of life experience, I thought I might probably have a better idea about what constituted “rude” than she did in 13 years. Apparently, however, 40 years is just enough time to get really, really, stupid. Just ask her.
So, though I am not proud of it, I was getting so frustrated by her attitude and sass that I finally just said, "Oh, grow up!"
And she said, "Why don't YOU grow up!"
And I said, "I AM grown up!!"
I just wasn't acting *that* grown up, is all....
I think next time I will just go get on the PA system at one of the checkstands, and make the following announcement for everyone to hear:
“Attention, Shoppers!! [insert name here] Allen has officially joined the ranks of womanhood, and can now be found perusing the feminine hygiene products on aisle 23! Please congratulate her as you go by!”
Or, I will leave her at the store, and buy a puppy on the way home, instead.
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