Last week the girls came home talking about the boy in Sophie’s class who’s always getting into trouble. He lay on the floor in the middle of class that day, flat out, looking up at the ceiling while everyone else sat in their chairs.
One day he took his cheese stick to P.E. after the teacher said to leave snack in the classroom, and when he was caught halfway down the hall nibbling it from the top, instead of returning to replace it (as he was then told), took a big bite, smiled, and dropped the rest in the garbage can.
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The best (or worst, depending on how you see it) was at lunch when he put his sandwich on top of his head, let it fall to the ground, and then ate it.
Both of my girls are still talking about the sandwich incident all of these days later.
Slugs and snails and puppy dog tails. Ants in pants, silliness, and a good dose of dirty, i.e. ingesting sandwiches that’d spent time on the cafeteria floor.
What they’re made of makes little girls laugh.
What they’re made of is mysterious and confusing and utterly charming, sometimes in the most disgusting way.
“Boys.” As Britney Spears so eloquently put it, back in 2001. “Sometimes a girl just needs one.”
A new app called Tinder has made the art of mating, and meeting, as easy as if all eligible men were ringing your front door bell.
It’s a phenomenon, actually, that the young set has all figured out. The over forties are just now catching on.
After setting up an account through Facebook, choosing a profile picture and adding a small description, eligible singles pop up on the screen, at which point a simple swipe adds them to a list of likes (swipe right), or nopes (swipe left).
When you like a man, and if he likes you, you’re matched, and then guided to a message page where you can chat.
To say it’s “fun” is an understatement. The potential for dates, the ego boost from a match, and the ease of use makes it the best dating app since…. Ever.
But with most of the eligible bachelors hovering dangerously close to those teenage years, I’m old enough to be their mother, which makes the entire thing a little uncomfortable.
Why would a twenty-two year old want to date a single mother over forty?
And why have I been swiping right on boys that had I been an overly frisky/unprotected twenty-year old, could now be my sons?
It’s not complicated.
These boys are hilarious.
They’re mysterious, and charming.
And after a couple of e-messages they eventually say something so utterly boyish that there’s no choice but to move on.
Because, at twenty-two, they’re not quite men.
And at forty-two, I just can’t allow them to eat filthy ham and cheese from the floor.