So yestereve, I went to the grocery store because the parentoids are having the kitchen renovated EXTREME MAKEOVER style, minus the fleeting fame and jump cuts!
Fast forward through the product placement, and you will learn that there is no food to be had anywhere in our abode, not even in my college mini-fridge that is now stocked with vague vegetable parcels, and salted packing peanuts (Isn’t that right, silverfish squatters, never mind that you are ghost bugs who don’t eat anyway?!).
Tangentials aside, I went to the supermarket to root around and forage for some over-processed grubbings. I realized that even if I don’t have to track and hunt a box of Cupcake Pebbles with a Nerf gun, I will probably do it anyway.
Unfortunately, what I did not account for, ladybugs and gentleworms of the court, is that…”School’s out for the summer! School’s out forever!” That terrifying subspecies known as Teenagus Headachus Maximus AKA “still a raging hormone bundle, not yet a shred of rationality” roams the streets willy-nilly for the next few months.
Consequences be darned! It’s too late for summer school enrollment and the jails are already full. Invest in sage; burn incense in the fireplace; misalign your chi to throw off the scent; barricade your yoga studio; do what needs to be done for some peace of freaking mind. Because head games are where these rapscallions do their best work, usually in the form of permanent mental damage to your self-esteem without even a blink of conscience.
photo courtesy of Flickr and angelalachan
Whilst I was trying unsuccessfully to find a simple and classic item known as coffee cake (but here’s the catch: in a single serving amount), what should happen but a head-on collision with a shrieking, roving cul-de-sac gang of teenage girls having a midweek slumberfest (they were accompanied by a matriarchal chaperone of some sort, but I could see in her glassy eyes that she was past the point of caring about any collateral damage sustained in a public setting).
Every girl was talking, nay squealing at once, and about anything and everything in the immediate vicinity. This one’s nails. The other one’s Bumpit. How the croissants “looked like they sucked.” (actual quote) The fluorescent lighting’s effect on their junior pancake makeup. They were all wearing various forms of whatever something you happen to have had on when you are at an adolescent all-girl sleepover and someone suggests making a snack run, and then everyone loses their minds from sheer excitement before even piling into the minivan. Sweatpants lightly tied, cheerleading tees coordinated, chunky flip-flops donned, and away we go!
Anyhow, no matter how much I engrossed myself in the mini muffin selection, one or more of my five to six senses kept being overwhelmed by the sheer presence of group puberty. Eeeeeee, oooooh, mild hazing, maniacal laughter at too high a sound register, and whispers! Clearly about me, because I immediately regressed back to my 12-year-old self, giant glasses (half empty), waistband of my stirrup pants all the way up to my neck, squeaky sneakers, ears burning constantly, and sense of shame disproportionately advanced for one’s lack of world experience. So I grabbed whatever I could get my paws on and hightailed it out of there. Onion flat crisps are dessert tonight!
photo courtesy of Flickr and greenmelinda
Alas, victory was not mine. On my way out, two of the girly swirls were proclaiming Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson “so cute” on the cover of US Weekly. I threw a cascade of impulse buy items out of sheer reflex toward the cooing and ran toward the light of the moon outside screaming “Team Jacob, awhooooooooo!” I was a wolf in sheepish clothing! But in self-defense, they drove me to madness despite the fact that most of them don’t even have their learner’s permits yet. I haven’t even read any of the Twilight series nor have I watched the films, but my survival instinct kicked in and I knew what I had to do.
Next time, I’ll be ready, live streaming affirmations into my ears and reminding myself to stop mentally shadowboxing with my past. But, if you need me in the meantime, I’ll be yelling at my middle school yearbook accompanied by the soundtrack of Rudy. Flat crisp, anyone?
photo courtesy of Flickr and raymaclean