My son turned 11 years old at the end of January. He’s the biggest social butterfly of the family. He’s already into the whole girl thing. He’s been a little Casanova since pre-school when he was the only boy invited to a little girl’s birthday party. At the party, all the mommas kept coming up to me and telling me how much their little beauties loved my son. Back off girlies, he’s four and still MINE!
When he was in third grade he decided he needed to wear cologne to school to impress a little girl. That lasted about a week and a half. The next year he spent about two weeks with his ear glued to the telephone with yet another little vixen trying to take my little boy away from me.
Ambulances were called, a defibrillator was employed, psychiatrists prescribed medications and I am now undergoing intense psychotherapy. I am told this therapy could last several years and may have to involve experimental techniques not yet FDA approved.
So that is where I put my foot down. Maybe some people will scoff at me, but 11 is way too young to be buying jewelry for some little trollop that is probably just going to break his heart. We compromised on letting him get her a small heart shaped box of chocolates and a cheap ass rose, which I’m rethinking, but it’s too late for that. I think my aforementioned medication clouded my judgment on that.
I spent Valentine’s Day watching the clock at work. Both wishing I could be there to watch my son give Valentine gifts to a girl for the first time and glad I wasn't there to see it. The hours dragged by as I tried not to imagine how it all went for him. My impatience to hear him tell me about is day was almost unbearable.
The clock did finally register home time and when I got home the first thing I asked my boy was what happened with his girl. He says at first she blushed. Then she thanked him. Then he told me she said she wanted to kiss him.
My heart is now in a million pieces and there is a nice white jacket waiting for me as well as some men to take me to a nice soft room.