I really hate it when I'm wrong.

The Kiddo, as you may recall, recently turned 16. And, in our state at least, he is not allowed to get his driver's license until he gets a minimum of 30 hours of classroom training at a certified driving school, 6 hours of behind-the-wheel training with a licensed 'professional', and -at some point before applying for his actual license- 6 hours of night driving. Before we found out that the local SCHOOL BOARD offers this for a much lower fee, we signed The Kiddo up with Taggart's (they of the hideous Student Driver vehicles that everyone feels inexplicably compelled to screw with on the road) and off he went. I was a little annoyed that the behind-the-wheel portion of his class didn't take place until two or three months after the class, but at least he was getting the time and training, right? And with someone who also has a steering wheel, brakes, and a gas pedal on HER side of the car (quite unlike my own) and could help him out if need be. (Insert Relieved-Gracie sound!)

So today was his first day of this behind-the-wheel training and I was a little nervous about it, (but not as bad as we ALL know Gracie can be) and I ask him to call me when he gets home to let me know he's okay and how it went.

And, just to ease your minds, the driving thing was NOT Today's Traumatic Event. The Kiddo is fine (relatively speaking) and no accidents or traffic citations occurred.

So here's how things went after I'd had a full day of work, had participated in the death of a bird (remind me to tell you how I reacted in the car, which -of COURSE- was like a doofus) and, for the last few days, have been in horrible pain after overdoing it on vacation and doing too much cleaning over the weekend. In summary: the day had SUCKED.

And, in spite of the late hour, it had only just begun.

George and I got home at the same time. We go up to the living room where, by the freakin' way, it's close to 100 degrees because the gawdam AIR CONDITIONING isn't working properly (apparently it was included in the recent executive meeting wherein any and all functioning items and appliances belonging to George and Gracie go on strike within 10 days of each other, most of which occurred while on vacation recently, including a $1,000 brake job, the car battery, one of my tires... the list just goes on and freakin' ON) and I just can't take one more thing, but at least the day is over, everyone is safe at home and I can finally relax, right?

puuuuuh-SSSSSHHHHAW!!

The scene is set like so: George is sitting on the couch. I am standing up on the other side of the coffee table, facing the stairs that lead to the bedrooms and the computer room, where my darling son is playing a computer game. This is the same son who I've been raving about and praising like one of those annoying mothers for the last few weeks --even more than I usually do-- because he's just been doing so well. Over the last few months, a light bulb seems to have gone off within him and he's just impressed the hell out of us. His grades have drastically improved, he's gotten a job, he has a girlfriend, his skin has cleared up because he did as he should and kept up with the skin regimen set out by his doctor, his confidence has increased exponentially, he's been going out more and become more social, and he's just been, frankly, ...wonderful.

I should have KNOWN that karma would kick my ass for being so effusive.

So...like I said...we're in the living room, sweating our asses off, and The Kiddo is upstairs playing a game. Since he neglected to call me when he got home --as I had requested, let's not forget-- I called up to him to ask how things went. Of course he refused to indulge me on the first try.

Yelling back and forth between upstairs and down, it goes a lil' somethin' like this:

Gracie: "How was the driving session today?"

The Kiddo: "Fine."

Gracie: "Would you tell me about it, please?"

The Kiddo: "I just did. It was FINE. Nothing happened!"

Gracie: "Kiddo, I am NOT kidding. Come OUT here and TALK TO ME!"

The Kiddo: *Sighs audibly and comes out into the hallway. He's leaning against the guest bathroom door, about 20-30 feet away. It's rather dark up there and Gracie is rather blind down here, as well as being slightly annoyed that he won't come all the way downstairs, but whatever. I'm hot, I'm tired, I'm in pain, and I don't plan to make this an extended ordeal.

I ask him again how it went and am (@#$+*#(@@#!!) again met with the ever-explanatory "Fine, mom. It. Was. FINE."

Gracie: "Jesus. Would you elaborate for me? PLEASE??"

The Kiddo: "We drove. A LOT. Out to Gwinnett, even."

Gracie: "There ya go! That's better! Did you do okay?"

The Kiddo: "Yep."

Gracie: "Did you drive on the highway?"

The Kiddo: "Yep."

I'm getting increasingly pissed off that I have to drag each bit of information out of him like a freakin' prisoner of WAR and still he won't take the hint and just TALK about it. So I look at George to display my frustration and also to see if maybe he can give it a shot and perhaps have better luck.

But...there's something curious going on there. George has a funny look on his face. His brow is furrowed, his eyes are rapidly blinking (uh-oh! M-O-O-N spells TROUBLETROUBLETROUBLE!!) and there's something new, too; his jaw is hanging open. And...he's looking in the direction of The Kiddo. I mentally process this for about three seconds and I assume he's trying to be funny. That he's mock horrified...something along the lines of "Ohhh, no! Gasp! The Teenage Kiddo was loosed on the highway! Ack!" and I grin. But...he isn't stopping. It's going on too long for his normal brand of humor. I become concerned. And I make the mistake of going "...what...?"

And he doesn't reply. Oh...his mouth moves, but nothing comes out.

I look upstairs at my son and I don't get it. So, with a more concerned tone to my voice, and with a bit more amplification, I again say: "WHAT?" and The Kiddo decides to help us out. Just as George finally regains the ability to speak and says something about "Head...lookit...head" The Kiddo steps out of the darkness of the hallway and into the light at the top of the stairs and says, as he dips his head, "Prolly it's cuz-a THIS..."

And...I nearly faint. Because THIS is what I am met with.

Oh, uh-huh. Yep. That's right, friends and neighbors, the child I've been raving about for being so wonderfully normal and obedient and OH-SO-GROWN-UP has colored his HAIR freakin' BLUE. OH and not just ANY blue, no no, he actually dyed his hair to MATCH HIS SHIRT.

Christ.

Gracie: "What...w-w-w-what eeooohhheeeyuuhhh....the HELL have you DONE!?!"

The Kiddo: *Brilliantly replies* "Wull...uh...I colored my HAIR. Can you tell?"

Gracie: "Can ... can I TELL!? Are you frigging KIDDING ME?! "

The Kiddo: "No, I really did."

Gracie: *Dumbfounded* "I can SEE THAT. Holy GOD. ...Did you tell your GIRLFRIEND about this?"

The Kiddo: "Oh she encouraged it...she thought it sounded like a GREAT idea!"

Gracie: "Oh how terrific. Great. And I'm just SURE her parents are going to LOVE this."

The Kiddo: "Well everyone ELSE does!!"

Gracie: "Oh is that so??" and -to George- "well...everyone ELSE does... so, you know, apparently we aren't human, eh?"

George: *Giggles and shrugs in agreement*

Gracie: *To The Kiddo, who has backed further upstairs and down the hallway, clearly planning an elaborate yet sloppy escape ('cause NOW, apparently, he knows what's GOOD for him)* "And what about WORK!?!"

The Kiddo: "Oh, they LOVE it!"

Gracie: "Riiiiight."

The Kiddo: "No, they do."

Gracie: "Wait, wait, wait. They've SEEN this ... this ... monSTROSITY!?"

The Kiddo: "Oh, uh-huh."

Gracie: "WHEN!?"

The Kiddo: "When I WORKED."

Gracie: "When was THIS?"

The Kiddo: "Yesterday."

Gracie: "When the hell did you DO this??"

The Kiddo: "Sunday."

Gracie: "Where the hell were WE?!"

The Kiddo: "I dunno...Home??"

Gracie: *Baffled that she missed this for two days, but decides to address this later* "They've seen this and they didn't FIRE you!?"

The Kiddo: ""Of course not. They LOVE it. They said so. And besides, I ASKED them beforehand and they were totally cool. They said 'No problem!'"

Gracie: "Lovely. Just lovely. Did it even OCCUR to you to ask your PARENTS?? And what the HELL do you plan to do about customers, huh!? How professional do you really think this IS!?"

The Kiddo: "The customers LOVE it!"

Gracie: "You're HIGH."

The Kiddo: "No, they do. Tons of them complimented me on it!"

Gracie: "Oh really. They did, did they? And WHERE is that again???"

The Kiddo: "Uuhhhh...WORK?"

Gracie: "Yes, and WHERE is this work? This venerable Mecca of Fashion???"

The Kiddo: "....duh...Taco Bell?"

Gracie: "Thaaaat's RIGHT. Taco Bell. How could I forget? Ground Zero for the world's innovators of fashion! The ones PARIS and MILAN look to first for the season's new wares! TAAAACO fuh-REAKIN' BEEEEEELLLLLLL. The oh-so-brilliant fashionistas!"

The Kiddo: *Irritated as hell with this ranting woman, he sighs exaggeratedly and stuns me with the following response* "NO. Just NORMAL WHITE PEOPLE!"

Gracie and George whip their heads around at the same time to stare at each other in disbelief while The Kiddo huffily paces the hallway, back and forth he goes, and finally retreats to the computer room, but only because I am about to say things that no minor child should hear, so I order him to get OUT of my SIGHT by exclaiming "Ohhhh, you need to LEAVE this room, little man. Right now. Go!!"

Gracie: *To George, once The Kiddo is once again out of earshot* "Did he...did he just say 'normal WHITE people'??"

George: "Yes. I...uh...y-y-y-yes he did."

Gracie: "The fuck are WE, then?!?!"

George: "Stars in Candid Twilight Zone?"

Gracie: "And what does WHITE even have to DO with it???"

Aaaaand this is when George can contain himself no longer. He, of course, loses his shit laughing, and I can't help it...I join him.

Finally, the laughter peters out and we both go silent for a few minutes...deep in confused thought.

No...dropping him off there was not an option.

The Kiddo emerges again about 10 minutes later, when he supposes I've calmed down (and no longer hears me ranting to nobody in particular) and very wrongly thinks this is the perfect time to say the following: "you know, you SAID I could do it, mom."

Gracie: *He can NOT be serious. Does he KNOW ME!??!* "Oooohhhh-ho-ho! I said NO such THING!"

The Kiddo: "Yuh HUH! You said if I got a job and paid for it myself, I could DO IT!"

Gracie: *to herself* "Shit...this sounds familiar. It really does. But ... no. No WAY I would agree to this! He has to be making it up. It has to be my repayment for when I was a teenager and I would play on my own mother's forgetfulness and would say things like "Hey, ma...remember that time you forgot your wallet and I gave you $20.00? Can I get that back now?" and she'd be all "I...didn't I pay you back?" and I'd oh-so-innocently (and oh-so-LYING-ly) tell her that she hadn't. Yes, I know...I was a horrible daughter. So...that's what this is, because despite the fact that he has been nagging me about this for eight years, I would NEVER agree to my son willingly turning himself into a SMURF! I just wouldn't."

To The Kiddo I said: "I most certainly did NOT!" (duh...you would have said the same thing too!)

The Kiddo becomes increasingly flustered and indignant and let's loose a rapid-fire defense and insistence of my previous Granting of Permission. I, in turn, send him away again. Not only because I need to think and am getting upset again, but ... dude. He just looks hilarious and I can NOT have a calm, serious conversation with him LOOKING like a birthday CUPCAKE.

As he once again departs from my personal space, he tosses a nugget of information over his shoulder: "They wanted to do it Pink, but I said 'No!'"

And my husband, henceforth known as Mr. Chuckles, spits his drink out while laughing and -while nearly choking- says "Ohhh, so you DO have a line! And it's PINK...thaaaaat's where ya put yer FOOT down, eh??"

The Kiddo wisely decides against replying in kind and just laughs along with George on his way out of the room. George -after composing himself...again- leans over to me (because I have now fallen not just on the couch out of exhaustion and the weight of this day, but I have slid onto my knees on the floor and am currently resting my head on the cool, cool, unable-to-talk-and-dye-its-hair-blue table) and whispers "Uhhh...don't get mad, sweetie? But... well...you did say that."

It's a curious thing...how a second lying-ass person in the house can perk you RIGHT back up, isn't it?

Gracie: "Said WHAT, exactly??"

George: "That if he got a job, he could do it."

Clearly Gracie looks on in disbelief, positive that (despite how familiar this all sounds) they are both quite mistaken. Because of this look I am wearing, George feels it necessary to repeat this supposed conversation we had...verbatim: "He was buggin' you about for, like, the millionth time, and you finally got annoyed and said, angrily: 'Finefinefine! You want your hair blue? Okee-freakin-DOKEE! When you get a job and you have your own money? And THAT'S what you want to spend it on? Then you can JUUUUST go RIGHT AHEAD!'"

Gracie: "Damn. I...I think you're right..."

George: "Yep. I remember."

Gracie: "Oh, well, thank you."

George: "No problem!"

Gracie: "And just when was this, exactly??"

George: *Thinks for a minute* "Mmmmm...'bout three years ago."

Gracie: "Jesus CHRIST!"

George: "I know. Three friggin' years and what does he do? Gets his first damned paycheck and..."

Gracie: "...dyes. his. hair fuh-RICKIN' BLUE."

George: *Starts giggling again*

Gracie: "God. I didn't think he'd ever actually get a job!

George: *Laughs*

Gracie: "...or actually friggin' REMEMBER it -THREE YEARS LATER- and DO IT!"

George: "Well, you should be careful what you say, sweetie." Ohhh, so he's Mr. SMARTY pants now.

Gracie: "Oh, you just be quiet. Besides, it's just something you SAY...one of those frustrated moments as a parent, when you just get so annoyed and you're busy and trying to do a million things at once and they're nagging and nagging and you just say something off-hand...something waaaay in the future ... I'm sorry, but... to shut them UP. Because two minutes later, they're on to the next thing and they've completely forgotten about it!"

George: "Yeah? And how's that workin' out for ya??" *ducks to avoid the smack headed his way*

He then goes on to announce "I think I did a superb job of keeping my Parental Face on back there."

Gracie: "Yes...while he was in the ROOM"

George: "Hey! that's what COUNTS!!

Gracie: "I must say...you look very attractive when you're PURPLE from laughing."

15 minutes later, Gracie is still just so surprised that her son did this and she begins shaking her head and stuttering again...only offering muttered half-sentences (to nobody, of course) and George says "What?" to which I reply with a finger pointed in the general direction of the computer room.

George: "Ehhh, he's a kid."

Gracie: "I know, but still. He's never DONE anything like this before. ...just gone off and done something huge like that without asking me first or at least talking to me about it. I mean, hell...the kid asked my permission a few years ago to curse. Can you believe that?? He actually came up to me one day and asked if it was okay if he said some bad words (but never the 'F' word or anything bad like THAT) when no adults (including ME) were around. That's so...unheard of. I just don't GET IT. He'll ask my permission to say 'Shit' but not to MAKE HIMSELF LOOK LIKE A SNO-CONE!?"

George: *Laughing* "Aww, honey, he's just expressing himself. Exerting some independence."

Gracie: "I get that, I do. And I'm proud of him for growing up and doing his own thing and for having the self-assuredness to make such a drastic move, but..."

George: "...But?"

Gracie: "Dude. Our SON is BLUE!!!"

George: "Hey...at least he didn't come home with a crack whore."

Gracie: "No, no. That's NEXT WEEK."

So...who's up for babysitting!?

Someone Arrived Here Searching For:

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www.oldwoman.com

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cheer "tune of"

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