So today I went to work. My blackberry sucks, and the alarm didn't go off which I hate. Not the way to start my day, but it was a Saturday so you know what that means...Oh hai thurr ladies. (I cannot wait to bag my first MILF. It will be epic.) (Sis if you're reading this and you know someone...) Today was an interesting day as far as watching youth basketball goes. It was juxtaposed with all my current life problems (insurance, school, Andrew Fernino, etc) and watching these little kids run around and act out their 11 year old angst just made me feel queasy. Let us take a moment and say a prayer for our preteen selves. That, any of us survived those times is a mystery. Girls especially. Man, oh man. The prospect of raising a daughter scares me. Expertly navigating the intricate rules society has for women, with self esteem intact, is so hard that there's nothing exciting or inviting about trying to do it. And from what I can see it's not even the kids fault (it never is really). I saw a girl out there who was having to keep pulling up her bra strap, obviously her first, during the game...Finances aside, can't her mom or dad see she is obviously in need of the Brandi Chastain special? Not to mention the girl had hair down to her waist with one stretched out scrunchy to try and tame that mane. Her mom sent her out into the world hair unbraided, bosom unswaddled, and shoes untied. How is she supposed to be poised or command respect looking like that? Furthermore, at that nubile age, she like other girls in her shoes could realistically draw attention from men ranging in ages from her own all the way up to literally the edge of death. In Japan you could sell her underwear in a vending machine for God's Sake. What kind of mind fuck must that be? We need to do better. Like the wise poet laureate Chris Rock once said, "If she ends up on the pole, you done fucked up!" It's insufficient parenting I say.
Note: when you watch 11 year old girls try and play basketball, these are the mental tangents your mind takes at times. I got my Hillary Clinton/building a better woman/save the babies on ok? Trust me the game was beyond uninteresting. I randomly guessed the over/under would be 52 combined points. I took the under...I won. For those of you counting at home; that was 2 teams, playing 32 minutes, who combined to average under 26 points each. Brutal. I'll be ranting on the WNBA soon enough.
I digress. I'm awkward now, but at least I know it, back then I was a flaming ball of awkward and I didn't even know it. High water sweats 7 days a week, hair brushing optional, the classic. So I will assert once again be glad you're not 11 anymore. Life certainly isn't looking any better on this side of puberty but at least we have some say in it now. And for the record I had a flashback of my own. I recall often walking onto the court after a timeout and not knowing wether we we're on offense of defense, what side I should go to, and my favorite calling out the man I'd be guarding even though 30 seconds ago our coach had told us we'd be in a zone defense. Yup ignorance is bliss. And I grew up one Blissful little Mug'.
No comments:
Post a Comment