Wednesday, September 4, 2013

High School and a Nail Salon

So last week's post (as in, singular, because that's all I could manage last week) was written in the dance studio. This week's is coming to you from the nail salon, because (1) I'm a multi-tasker like that, and (2) the only time I have a second to blog is when I'm forced to wait for someone/something. Which is sad, but true. (In case you're wondering, blogging through the Blogger app on my phone is a little difficult.) (Also, modern technology makes waiting so much more bearable.) (But probably doesn't help my ADD tendencies.)

Anyway. Moving on to the point of this pointless post.

I'm sitting near two high school girls who are discussing the drama of the day--loudly--in full out he-said, she-said mode.   They're also venting about the unfairness of the dress code. Dollar bills are apparently being used to check the dress code for shorts--they can't be more than a bill from the top of your knee.

This conversation is pretty educational, really.  And it makes me want to pull money out of my wallet just to have a visual of this awful, completely unacceptable rule created by people who are clearly intent on ruining lives. 

Sometimes I miss high school. Because when was the last time my thoughts only consisted of dates, going out with friends, football games, and the occasional homework assignment? 

High school, that's when. (Maybe college too, but the homework was more serious.  The fun was also more serious, but that's another post.)

You spend most of high school wanting to grow up and experience life. Then life happens with its mortgages and bills and toddlers who decide they're nocturnal and husbands who think cleaning the kitchen after dinner means just dumping the dishes into the sink even though the dishwasher is right there (I'm still not over that, B) and you're left thinking, "Seriously?! What was I thinking, rushing to grow up?!"

I'd like to tell these girls that. And that no one  ever died from following a dress code. 

But I won't because I might sound old. And I most definitely am not old. 

(Even if I think the dollar bill rule is kind of reasonable.)




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