I was over at Kellie's place, and now I'm stealing her idea for a post. (Before you go anywhere, read Kellie's for a good laugh!)
I've decided to recycle my favorite post ever. If I do say so myself, it is absolutely hilarious!
Of Transvestites And Equal Time
Drama. That's what it's all about with teenage girls.
Everything is a HUGE deal to them, and my daughter is no exception.
"You went to the mall and you bought the baby way more clothes than you bought me!"
"You told the baby four times today that you love her, but you only said it to me three times!"
"You blogged about the baby embarrassing you by saying v*gina, but I've said lots of embarrassing stuff and you didn't blog about that!"
Now, I really try to be a good mother. I try not to show one of my daughters partiality over the other, but apparently I have failed (once again) in this regard. My daughter was absolutely correct; she has embarrassed me beyond measure with talk in public about genitals, and I was remiss in not sharing them with the world (a.k.a. the twenty of you that read this blog).
So, in an effort to diminish that special brand of household tension that is caused only by a teenage girl who feels slighted, I will attempt to rectify my mistake.
Picture it. May 2003, the elementary school auditorium. The room was filled with fourth grade girls and their mothers gathered together for "the talk" given by the school nurse. My daughter was so excited at the thought of finally becoming a "woman" as the school nurse discussed the various physical changes that would accompany her impending puberty.
I, on the other hand, was so uncomfortable I wanted to puke. I'm quite immature that way. I do not want to think about my daughters having breasts and menstrual flows and pubic hair. I know it's all natural, and I'm supposed to create bonding moments with my daughters during discussions of tampons and douches, but that's not the way I roll. The whole thing is gross when it comes to my daughters, and I don't want to know nuthin' about nuthin'.
Anyway, the school nurse passed out slips of paper and told the girls to anonymously write down any questions that they had and she would answer them. The girls took a few minutes to write their questions and the nurse collected the papers.
The VERY FIRST question the nurse read was, "Why do girls grow hair on their uterus?"
There was dead silence in the room and the "What the...huh?" feeling was still hanging in the air when my daughter raised her hand and proudly exclaimed, "THAT'S MY QUESTION!"
Instinctively, I grabbed her arm, pulled it down, and said, "Shut up! Don't EVER tell ANYONE that's YOUR question!"
I know what you're thinking: bad parenting. I should have supported her and told her there are no stupid questions. And I definitely never should have told her to shut up.
But don't you DARE judge me until YOUR kid asks in front of 100 people why girls GROW HAIR on their UTERUS! HAIR ON THEIR UTERUS! If you somehow manage to live through the embarrassment, then you can talk to me about my parenting skills!
But that is nothing compared to what she did a few years earlier in the fitting room of Macy's. It was Christmastime and the place was packed--packed, I tell you. It was one of those days where there are so many people that you have to stand in line for 15 minutes just to get into a fitting room to try on clothes that you don't really want to try on anyway because of your horrible body image.
But I digress.
My daughter and I waited patiently and finally got into a fitting room. I took off my clothes and stood there in only my bra and pantyhose. Now, I don't wear underwear with pantyhose because it's uncomfortable, and it's just redundant. I mean, they have panties sewn into them, hence the name pantyhose. Unfortunately, the panties in the pantyhose are sheer. Apparently, the sight of my naked lower half horrified my daughter because she yelled, in a fitting room crammed with people, "MOM, I CAN SEE YOUR P*NIS!"
Holy crap! I didn't know what to do! My first instinct was to cover up my p*nis and run out of there. Instead, I waited in that little, tiny room until I thought most of the people in there had gone.
Despite my efforts to get out of Macy's with some dignity intact, I'm certain that word of the woman with the p*nis circulated throughout the store. When I walked out of that fitting room, I swear to you, dozens of people were gathered and I watched their eyes shift downward and try to check out my "package."
So, my dear teenage daughter, I love you just as much as I love your little sister, and I consider you equally embarrassing.