Time To Move

Last September, I wrote a little post called "The Cheese Stands Alone." I'd link it for you, but apparently I do not know how to do that on an iMac. Why would it be any different than on a PC? Or perhaps I am really that much of a complete computer idiot that I cannot figure out how to do such a simple thing...in any case, "The Cheese..."was last year's Old Home Day post. This right here? This is this year's Old Home Day post. Feel free to go hunt down "The Cheese..." for a fun exercise in comparing and contrasting. I'll wait here.

Okay, so yesterday was Old Home Day. Given what an extraordinarily super fun time I had LAST year at Old Home Day, I wasn't much looking forward to it. However, since there was no way I was going to get out of taking the girls, I decided to head my boredom off at the pass and volunteer for something. True, standing at a bake sale table is not my idea of a good time. But at least there were people to talk to.

It turned out to be quite a shrewd move, actually, for two other reasons. First of all, it poured rain all the live long day. This did not slow the crowd at all - considering that a large majority of the crowd was wearing what I can only describe as "farm fashion", it's possible that they do not see coming in from the rain as a necessity of life - but luckily, it did mean that the bake sale was held under a tent. While I was absolutely freezing, at least I was dry. Second of all, manning the table gave me an ideal vantage point to spy on Sixth Grader and her friends, nestled up together at a picnic table and voluntarily arranged in boy-girl-boy-girl formation. Curious.

My shift was for two hours. Other than eyeballing those sixth graders, I spent most of my shift trying against all odds to avoid any contact with the cotton candy machine. I'm sure I came across as pretentious, but listen, nobody told me anything about any cotton candy machine. That crap is blue, people. And I was wearing a brand new white fall shirt. I sold the dickens out of those brownies and cookies - or at least tried to give the appearance that I had something to do with them flying off the table. Then my shift ended, by which time my Tornadoes had been swept away in a gaggle of girls to someone or another's house to dry off and hang out until the dreaded fireworks later that night, which meant that a certain yours truly did not have to go to them. Hello, boyfriend?

Boyfriend was much more sensible this year about the fact that we had a few stolen hours to ourselves. The cheese did not stand alone this year, blogosphere. The cheese was in very fine company.

But wait. The story doesn't end there. It can't end until I tell you the Big News. Remember that whole boy-girl formation I mentioned before? Well, it seems two of said boys-in-formation were vying for the attention of a certain girl. That girl being my daughter. (And no, by the way, these were not the same two boys of "hotter than the sun" infamy. Two other boys.) It also seems that these two boys accompanied the gaggle of girls to the fireworks. Which were ultimately cancelled, due to the fact that it was still raining. But this gave the two boys plenty of time to have a little tussle, so I hear, over my daughter. And the end result of this tussle, I am told, is that Sixth Grader made a selection, and upon coming home made her little sister inform me that she now has a boyfriend. They are "going out". Whatever that means when you are eleven years old and have no financial means or transportation and your parents get to monitor your phone calls and texting activity.

So basically my hair has gone stark white in a matter of two days - and that will be the last time that we attend Old Home Day. Clearly, it is nothing but trouble.