At a meeting of the female minds, (a smartypants book club of wickedly smart women … and me) it was with great apprehension, but not much delay, that I broke my own personal protocol of fake-it-until-I-make-it, when someone kindly asked about my darling teenage daughter. A bit too quickly, I revealed with much enthusiasm, how much I wanted to stab the little bitch with a fork.
“She’s such a brat! All the time! Selfish, miserable beast! Muttering and giving ME the stink eye over everything! Eye-rolling, foot-stomping, door-slamming – we took the door right off its hinges! I could seriously stab her. Frickin’ little brat, I could stab her with a frickin’ fork. Can’t stand her.”
Most were not surprised at this outburst, as I was often not the most poised person in attendance.
One friend abruptly placed her wine glass down, cleared her throat, turned, and arms crossed across her chest, glared at me:
“Kate, it makes me physically uncomfortable to hear you talk so violently about your daughter. I know her. She is quite frankly, a gem. I’m physically disturbed at what you say and how you say it. She is a young girl, and you should not speak like this, it’s not right. She deserves your respect, you owe her at least that much.”
Rage and embarrassment rushed up my neck and pooled in my ears. I heard nothing but roaring blood. But before I could fathom a response and (gulp) apology (??) for offending this woman, another voice spoke up.
“With all due respect, Melanie, you need to shut the fuck up.”
The room got quiet real fast. This was not an f-bomb dropping woman, this was a kinder, quieter, calmer mom who I greatly admire and have zero in common with.
“You have 2 BOYS. BOYS. You have absolutely NO idea what it’s like to have a teenage girl in your house – and Kate’s got three. So, with all due respect: SHUT. UP. You have no clue the beasts these girls become with little to no warning. No clue whatsoever.”
My savior (a mom of a 15-year-old girl) then turns to me:
I was thinking the same thing. Shut the Ef up!!! Although, to my surprise, teenage boys are not any easier when they are sandwiched between girls. Wonder if it’s just the voodoo of the teenage girl??? Things that make you go hmmm!
For what it’s worth, while those get togethers aren’t therapy sessions, they should be a safe place for women to vent together and just show some freaking comradere!!! I have learned they are not, nor are end of year soccer parties. Sometimes it’s best to pretend we live in 1950 and say, “oh, thank you for asking. That is so thoughtful of you for caring so much about how my family is doing. How is yours? Has Johnny stopped drinking yet?”
Ha! So is this what’s in store for me? I recently wrote about my tween daughter and I fear we’re not far off. Gawd.
stay the course; she’ll come back to you!