Being rejected in fifth grade is typically normal. But some boys need to tactfully execute slicker Casanova techniques, so girls can be left quivering in their bodices, or crop tops, rather than feel lowly and defeated. Casanova’s charm and irresistibility got him close to noblewomen, chambermaids, a nymphomaniac, and three unrepentant nuns. Which says something about the scruples of certain vestal virgins. I doubt I’ll be leading my granddaughter into a convent anytime in the future.
It was tormenting that no one invited my ten year old grand-darling to the grade school Masquerade Ball. I had a long discussion with the dissed debutante about the mating habits of halfhearted earthlings. Precisely, boys. She mustered up enough courage to ask a young stud herself. The boy hemmed and hawed at her request, and backed away saying he would think about it. Then with manners slightly undignified, he had another girl text her with the socially inept way of justifying why he couldn’t take her and that he would be taking someone else. But he made sure she knew that she was second on his list. Clearly he had a vagrant misunderstanding of sensitive feelings. My granddaughter was pretty upset that she was snubbed, spurring the defense mechanism of simply keeping quiet. I was never a stalker, nor was her mother a stalker. I took total solace in knowing that she wouldn’t be a stalker either. Although I do remember waiting for the lit can of hairspray to detonate under the chair of one slimy rejector. I’m kidding. So much for kissing behind bleachers and honeymooning in Paris.
It wasn’t five minutes ago that my grandbaby thought boys stunk. Now she’s in for the rough ride of consorting with the opposite sex. After hearing about her ordeal, and the fact that she went home and worked herself into a clamorous crazy-girl lather in front of her mother, it brought back memories of my own dateless despondency. I did have the violent impulse to take the incinerated remains of some boys and scatter them over a lion’s den to make sure there was not a trace of them left behind. What parasitically infests the minds of refusers is beyond me. I want my granddaughter to have all the wisdom I never gave my own girls. Nurturing the voice of vulnerability, the first thing I told her was to get herself some armor to keep the hits from penetrating her heart. And secondly, not to run out buying a sectional loveseat quite yet. The wedding venue will need a deposit first. Thirdly, I told her to soar with eagles rather than peck around with chickens. She was silent on the phone for a second, but I’m sure she mentally absorbed my meaning. Then I told her that I would always be around with a first aid kit if she decides to punch a chicken in the nose, or anyone else when faced with the potential of needing a bloody nostril.
It was time to apply The Rules, adapted from the popular book full of secrets on capturing the heart of Mr. Right.
Rule #1 tells you to be creative like no other. I would be inclined to say to any guy who dumped me, “Life is short, so I’ll make this short. Finders Keepers.” I believe Rule #2 states, Don’t talk to a man first or ask him to dance. It also stipulates how to act on dates 1, 2, 3, 4 through commitment. That is if she even gets a date to begin with. A girl could be going through menopause before she gets asked out. Rule #7 says not to accept a date for Saturday night after Wednesday. I’m not sure what takes guys so long. Especially ten year olds. Could be that they tire themselves shaving or looking for amphibians. Rule #16 points out that a girl shouldn’t tell a boy what to do. She can’t anyway. Not if there’s a frequency of conversations when the male participant has ingested too much sugared lemonade. Rule #17 indicates that a girl should never take the lead. That’s very true if he’s going to the little boys room. Although she could show him her infinite wisdom about personal hygiene by saying, “If you sprinkle while you tinkle, be neat and wipe the seat.” But I told her most guys already have mothers who tell them what to do. Rule #24 suggests slowly involving him with your family. So by the powers vested in me and my over-protectiveness, I now pronounce every potential villainous half-pint that comes within ten feet of my granddaughter or her loved ones, banned. Nixed. Possibly destabilized.
My granddaughter is angst ridden again knowing her mother is now her date. The boy should be equally angst ridden knowing my daughter is going to haunt him all night at the Ball. I told her how combustible hairspray cans will be when there’s a flame involved.
I like to be as helpful as possible.
My daughter called me inquiring, “Mom, you’re crafty. Wanna make five masks for your granddaughter and four of her friends for the Masquerade Ball?” I asked, “When is it?” She said, “This Friday. So you have plenty of time to make them all tonight and get them in the mail by tomorrow morning.”
Such pressure. I hope my daughter doesn’t feel too rejected.