I should change the title of this blog to Crash Test Dummy's Daughter Diaries, huh?
Okay, one more and then I'll start bashing on someone else.
Here's the dealio. When you're in high school and you want to ask someone to a dance you have to get creative.
In other words, it's a big ole' production.
And then your date has to answer you back with an equally creative production.
It all seems very mysterious and exciting to a mom without a life, but to a teenager with three of four lives, it can get a little stressful.
The boys are pretty chill about it all. They begin asking their dates 2-3 weeks before any given dance.
The girls, however, have to move on it 6-8 weeks before the dance. That's because the junior girls jump the gun and place dibs all the senior boys, forcing the senior girls to get in the race if they want to pin down their date of choice.
Like I said before, it's all very mysterious and exciting, this underbelly of the date dance world. Kinda reminds me of Black Friday how everybody waits in line to snatch and grab the perfect date off the the clearance rack.
Some boys, like my daughter's Justin Bieber Homecoming date, got asked four times, eight weeks prior to the dance.
My daughter's first choice got snatched up at seven weeks prior. So she asked the varsity tennis player that she beat. Not a consolation date, though. He's a cutie patootie fer sure, with all his ducks in a row. Harvard bound, dazzling smile, tall enough to be her big brother (who just so happens to be 6'1" now--just sayin').
She asked this tall, dazzling, Ivy leaguer with a sign that said "We could make a perfect "match!" (Get it? Match?) (It's tennis lingo, peeps, keep up.) Unfortunately the second part of that sentence that said "because I beat you, and what's more perfect than me winning!?" didn't fit on the sign so she left it off.
Included with the sign were five tennis balls that spelled out P R E F ?
Then there was a clue. "It's what's inside that counts." This clue referred to the teeny tiny pieces of folded paper my daughter had slipped inside each ball that spelled her name. (She likes to play hard to get like that.)
It was all very symbolic. And it was all very 12 days ago. Or should I say, 12 freakin' days ago! And he still hasn't answered her back yet.
12 days!!!! That's got to be a Guinness world record, don't you think?
Don't get me wrong, it's just a technicality and he's not being rude about it, or anything. Bless his heart. He still talks to her every day and acts normal, like any ole' tall Ivy leaguer with a dazzling smile would.
I told her she should light a fire under him by leaving the drum stick on his porch with a sign that reads, "The annoying drummer boy got back to me quicker."
But of course she isn't worried about it because she has three or four lives, so I took it upon myself to write him a letter in a language I thought he might understand. I'm patient and compassionate like that.
(BTW, names have been changed to protect the guilty.)
Can I call you Ace?
I would like to offer a bit of motherly advice, from one dumb "ace" to another. (Get it? dumb ace?)
Allow me to share the eight simple rules to a successful date dance "court" ship? (Get it? court ship?)
1. To git date dance "love" you gotsta give date dance "love."
2. See, winning usually boils down to how well you "serve" (and how fast you answer my daughter).
3. You can't find your perfect "match" by "default" . . .
4. But don't worry, you can always "rally" back . . .
5. If you get 'cha, get 'cha, get 'cha, get 'cha head in the game . . .
6. And answer my daughter . . .
8. Before I poke your eyes out.
P.S. If you hit the net, you get a "let." So take two (weeks.) But after that it will be a "double fault" (and she will be forced to play the drummer)
Mahalo Nui Loa
Hee hee. Do you think this will make a good impression?