They said it couldn't be done.
They said it would be like all the other times. I'd be talked into providing all the support services - the shopping, the corsage selection, the ironing, the transportation and of course, picking up the tab - only to be coldly shut out of the photo opportunities by an uncooperative teenage boy wearing a $30 tie.
They are usually right.
I resign myself to pictures of his shoes as I drive the uncooperative boy in the $30 tie to the house where all the teenagers are gathered in their finery. They will spend up to half an hour posing for their Facebook pages. A half dozen teenage girls will go home with pictures of him on their cameras. Just like last year, he promises to get me a copy. He has no intention of doing this. He will promise anything to keep me from getting out of the car.
Would you like to see a picture of his shoes? He is growing so fast. They will not fit him much longer. Someday I will look back on this picture and think, was he ever really so small?
Anyway, it's not like I will have nothing to remember this occasion by. My Visa bill, for instance. I will show it to my grandkids one day as proof that in the days before they were born, a wrist corsage was only $18. I also have the tie we picked out together in one of those priceless mother-son experiences that cost about $33 including tax. His father has about a million ties, but they are all gay.
I go home to flip through his baby pictures and be mocked by Mr. Kamikaze for my weakness. He does not understand why I do not leverage my control of the finance, transportation and corsage committee to demand as many pictures as I want. Because they would have all the charm of hostage photos. Duh.
Then I get a call from former Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich.
"I got something for you and it's bleeping golden," he says.
"Yeah, right," I say. "If I had a nickel for every time I heard that." It's true. Everyone in Chicago does Blagojevich now.
This time, however it's my neighbor, Mr. Suburban Overachiever, and he does in fact have the goods: pictures of the uncooperative teenager and his homecoming date. The boy in the $30 tie had been trapped outside between a line of semi-cooperative teenagers and a horde of mom and pop-arazzi shortly after I dropped him off.
There was no place to run. There are too many of us.
From the menswear archives: But I will treasure the receipts forever...
If I recall, the ties in Mr. Kamikaze's closet were "gay" and/or "ugly." I do have to say, however, (and I'm already kicked out of the coven so who cares) that new tie you bought him is much better than any of the others.
Posted by: Executive Suburbanite | September 21, 2010 at 02:22 PM
YOU got kicked out of the Coven? Does that mean I'm back in? BTW, all ties are gay.
Posted by: nthnglsts | September 25, 2010 at 09:45 AM
The only rule we ever officially adopted, other than the two-drink minimum, was that you couldn't take sides with husbands or boyfriends.
There never was a corresponding rule for kids. Maybe because they were all three months old at the time and not terribly argumentive.
SEE "Bylaws for Bitches and other Alternative Playgroup Rules", 5th Edition, Motherhood Press.
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | September 26, 2010 at 04:09 PM