Cue the theme from ‘Jaws’…..
As September crawled, the mid-October Cotillion date glowed on the calender. Terror. Fear in copious quantities. Night Sweats. Growing dread over the Apocalypse .
As you no doubt recall, the invite came in summer in a special little envelope with tissue paper and a reply envelope, like a wedding invite. Only in this case, it was an invitation to unimaginable horror. I, of course, being kinda normal, cringed and hid under the covers. The more mom told me, the more my sphincter contracted. It’s a little dance where young boys and girls dress up and dance…..like Cinderella’s ball.
My head, my toilet, perfect together.
Over the years, mom talked too much to the old man. Probably just to keep his mouth closed from screaming. He could seize a minute detail and covert it to something brutal. I caught the tone of his voice when he asked my thoughts; soon I would be bending over. Crocodile smile.
“What are you?? A little baby? You don’t want to grow up, is that it? Want to stay inside and play with toys? Just read books your whole life? You’re going!”
Later, upstairs, I hear mom saying “You shouldn’t say things like that. He’ll never enjoy it, if you force him.”
“Of course, he won’t !! It’s not about enjoying it!! It’s about growing up. When you’re an adult, you’re constantly doing things you hate!”
[Such sage wisdom, from a shy, retiring dry drunk. By the way, my name was ‘he’ or ‘him’. He never referred to me by name with my mother or other adults. I was this annoying horse turd that lived in the house, playing wretched music and reading books.]
So……..that’s settled. Once school began, we start talking about who’s going and who isn’t. The blonde twins have turned down the invite. Betty, of course, isn’t asked–people from the wrong side of the tracks don’t make the cut. No one asks Veronica, our balls aren’t made of iron.
But throughout rich town, girls are meditating and contemplating:
And for us boys………………ah, hell, sing it Gregg!