This week just keeps on giving.
Kid 2: May I got to the basketball game at school tonight? My room is clean, my bathroom is clean, and all my homework is done.
Me: Of course, honey.
Later on, after a day of work, Gordon is sitting on the bed with me in the bedroom. He is sorting through some action figures. I am sorting through my glorious stash of yarn. The stress of the release and other stuff finally got to me. I am falling asleep and cooking is the last thing on my mind. But I do know that we have to go to Walmart to buy shampoo and hair supplies, because Kid 2 is in a play, and she needs a Marilyn Monroe hair. I need Paul Mitchell hairspray and wet-set curlers for it, because she fried her hair by straightening and it won’t take the heat.
Gordon seems really comfortable, so I know I’ll have to hatch a plan to get him out of the house. We both have been sticking to our diet very closely, me out of necessity and Gordon out of solidarity. Despite spending Thanksgiving with the family, we only gained a pound each. And there are certain things that we haven’t had in a while. Like fried chicken.
Me: Honey, can we go to Walmart?
Gordon: evil eye.
Me: You could get fried chicken.
Gordon: That will work.
We collect Kid 1 and off we go to Walmart. Three hundred dollars later, armed with groceries, hair supplies and things we didn’t know we needed until we saw them in Walmart (which is why I don’t go there usually), we exit and go to get chicken. I see Gordon buying fried okra, which is my Achilles heel, and I tell him that I will not be having any fried chicken or fried okra, so he might as well get something else for himself… I check my cellphone, which has been set on vibrate for some reason, and I see nine messages from Kid 2. Nine.
I dial the number.
Me: What’s wrong?
Kid 2: COME GET ME!
Me: What’s wrong?
Kid 2: It’s terrible, I can’t tell you, please, please, please come pick me up.
We jump back in the car. Gordon is driving like a maniac. Kid 1 is frantically texting Kid 2, but Kid 2 isn’t replying. I’m freaking out.
This is what Kid 2 looks like. This is her outfit for the play, where she is playing a 60′s model. Contrary to her appearance, Kid 2 is fourteen years old, which is evident from this picture, taken immediately after the first one.
We exist in a state of constant vigilance and the first thing that goes through my mind is she got in a fight or has been assaulted. I’m grimly determined to not lose it. Gordon is equally grimly weaving in and out fo traffic with surgical precision.
Kid 1: No.
Gordon: Do we need police, do we need hospital?
Kid 1: She won’t tell me.
We come to a light which is known to malfunction. It’s supposed to adjust depending on the traffic flow and it we’re making a left turn and the light is not recognizing we are there. Minutes slide by. We are stuck. The light cycles three times and nothing. The traffic ebbs.
Kid 1: She is crying.
Gordon runs the red light.
We speed to the middle school. I see her standing here. I open the door.
Me: Are you hurt?
Her: This guy asked me for naked pictures and I told him no, and I know his girlfriend, and she asked me if he asked me and I showed her the text and these other girls were mean to me and they said I was trying to break them up on purpose and ….
Me: ARE YOU HURT?
Me: ARGH. Why didn’t you tell us that it was just some drama?
Her: I am upset!
Kid 1: What is wrong with you? We thought something bad happened!
Her: Something bad did happen!
Me: We thought you got assaulted.
Kid 2: Mooom, if I got assaulted, I would tell you right away!
Gordon in his super patient voice: Get in the car.
We drove home. I ate the entire box of fried okra and drank half a bottle of cheap wine. We watched a cheesy werewolf movie, that missed a chance to have a good ending and then I watched an episode of Fringe and then passed out. This morning, not surprisingly, my stomach hurts and Gordon is tired. Kid 1 and Kid 2 are fresh as daisies.
So. Your turn for teenage grey hair story.