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My cousin Annie had a boy-girl party. Her mom, Aunt Ann surprised her by inviting me.
Shortly before the party began in Uncle Mike and Aunt Ann’s finished basement, Annie asked me not to do or say anything to embarrass her. I guess she recalled the bike incident.
Being the new girl, several boys hung around me, asking questions.
“Where do you go to school?”
“How long are you visiting for?”
“So, you’re Ann’s cousin, huh?”
I reveled in the attention. Their last question held the assumption that I’d be on the same social and maturity level as my cousin. Ha ha.
It didn’t take too long before my curious suitors realized I was a dork. A sweaty-palmed, tongue-tied dork. After all the energy I expended trying to gain the positive attentions of the opposite sex, I didn’t have a clue how to act when my day finally arrived. No fair! I never had trouble talking before!
My male throng slowly dispersed.
The party numbers decreased dramatically and I noticed others heading upstairs. Kathy G. paused, turned around, and asked, “C’mon Mary, don’t you want any pizza?”
The only time I ever had pizza was at Annie’s aunt’s house, and I only liked the crust and sauce without cheese. I ventured upstairs to give it another try.I stood in the kitchen doorway as a big debate ensued over which music group was best, The Beatles or The Dave Clark Five. The party-goers began dividing into two groups.
“No band is better than The Beatles,” declared a boy from one group.
“DC5 forever,” yelled the other group.
Not knowing much about The Beatles and absolutely nothing about The Dave Clark Five, I stood to one side.
The two groups were evenly split. I became the deciding vote.
“C’mon, Mary. Get on our side,” called The Beatle’s crew.
“No way. C’mon over here, on the DC5 side,” urged a really, really cute guy.
Mama didn’t raise no fool. I walked over, stood by the cute guy, and chanted, “DC5 forever.”
My strategic move didn’t pay off. The cutie had a girlfriend who quickly took possession.
My apologies to the Beatles.
Lesson learned: The best laid plans of mice and men (and me) oft go astray.
Now it’s your turn: Were you a teenage party animal?
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