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  1. Memories of Awkward Christmases Past

    Monday, December 17, 2012


    Of course the time is 6pm and my blog isn’t posted.  What did you expect?  And if you think my timeliness with my blog entries is bad, you should see me on Christmas Eve (and day) trying to scratch up last minute gifts.  Yes, I’ve been known to open gifts neatly on Christmas morning and then use the same paper to wrap gifts for others because I’d neglected to buy wrapping paper.

    Since I’m pretty tired, and dinner’s not made yet, I think I’ll let the ghost of awkward Christmas past take over my brain and share some memories.  You do realize, at this stage of the game, that I am anything but graceful, physically or socially.  Never was.

    I was a child of about 12 still donning my Dorothy Hamill haircut whilst my other more socially acceptable friends had grown out their Olympiad skater quaffs.  I was teetering on the edge popular grammar school kid and free falling toward junior high school outcast.  My friends were into fashion and going to USA, United Skates of America, with the hopes of landing in the penalty box with a dreamy fella after a couple’s only skate (probably to You Are My Shining Star or Escape aka Pina Colada).  I, on the other hand, would enjoy the food bonanza that snack bar offered… 4 piping hot rectangles of pizza and as much Coke as I could get my grubby paws on.

    It was winter of my first year in junior high.  My friend, Lisa, was having a pre-Christmas slumber party with some old friends from elementary school and some of her new friends from junior high.  That was the year that Lisa and I had started to drift apart, despite our promises to be the next Laverne and Shirley, and I suspect her mom made her invite me over.  This was my chance regain my cool status after the gym suit / locker room debacle in earlier that September.

    (Flash-Flash Back:  7th grade junior high was the year we started changing for gym.  The style in 1980 was maroon gym shorts and a matching maroon Clifton t-shirt - purchased at Meltzer’s Sporting Goods.  In September, I kept telling my mother that I needed to get a gym uniform.  She told me not to worry - that she had my sister’s gym uniform from when she was in Junior High 8 years before.  Monday morning rolled around and my mother brought out my sister’s old one-piece gym uniform with ruffled, elastic sleeves, a cinched elastic waist, the bottom part that looked like bloomers from the 20s , and “A. DeRose” embroidered on the front pocket.  To say that I was horrified would be a gross understatement. Later that day, whilst changing in the girls’ locker room, some young gals noticed that I did not yet own a bra as I had nothing for which to fill one in.  They, in turn, told the young fellas in my class and thus, my name became No Bra FOR THREE YEARS!).

    Flash forward to Lisa’s slumber party.  We were to have loads of food, fun, and even a holiday grab bag.  My first error of the evening was suggesting that we get a tape-recorder and act out fake news reports, record fart noises during our news stories, and then play it back over and over again just like Lisa and I had done when we were in 3rd grade.  They preferred to call the boys that they liked and hang up on them.  Boooring!

    My penultimate error was my choice in sleepwear.  The girls were all wearing sweats and t-shirts.  I had on the Foxy Lady nightgown that my mother made for me when I was in 4th grade.  My Aunt Linda also made one for my cousin, Amy.   We looked like little twins.  As a matter of fact, I think my mom and aunt made several and sold them at the church holiday bazaar a few years prior.

    At last, the finale.  The grab bag.  As the screamy girls were all unwrapping make-up, brushes, mirrors, The Preppy Handbook, one of the new junior high friends opened my big surprise.  Apparently, my contribution of a whoopee cushion and slime wasn’t as well-received as I thought it would be. MY TURN!  All eyes on me, I gleefully I tore into the neatly wrapped package with gusto and screamed with enthusiasm (trying to match their shrieks of delight), “oooh myYY GOD!  I LOVE BOOGIE!  I JUST LOVE BOOGIE!”  Silence.  And then I heard someone say, “Um, it’s called Boggle.  Glad you like it?”  You know, it was an honest mistake.  Look at the picture.  A fleeting glance at that L on top of the L could kind of make you think it said BOOGIE!



    The girls continued with their prank phone calls to their cute boyfriends while I sat by the side, turning the little sand timer that came with Boogie over and over until it was time to go to sleep.

    The next morning I left and went to my friend Carrie’s house.  Carrie had been a good friend, particularly in September.  She lent me one of her bras after the locker room incident until my mom could get to Caldor to buy me one of my own.  The rest of that weekend, Carrie and I made Christmas cookies, rode our banana seat bikes around the chilly neighborhood looking at the Christmas lights, and watched A Charlie Brown Christmas.

    Not so bad after all.  I think I’ll go play Boogie with the kids.
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  2. 1 comments:

    1. Lisa Harmon said...

      Oh I'm so glad I'm not a teenager anymore!

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