Right Here Waiting for My Delivery- Tales of a 6th Grade Valentine's Day

It's Valentine's Day, and personally, I don't care if you love it, loathe it, or really don't give a damn. It's here, let's deal with it, and let's do that by letting me tell the story of my 6th grade Valentine's Day.

February 14, 1989. It's a Tuesday... that means it's a school day. This was before everyone's panties were in such a bunch over how kids should "express" themselves on Valentine's Day and the logistics of bringing balloons and packages and flowers and crap onto the buses... and before SOME kids were such open boogersnots to those in authority. Look, in 1989 if Frank the Bus Driver told you to sit your happy little butt back down and get control of your roses/balloons/giant chocolate panda bear you DID it... because if Frank the Bus Driver had to tell you again? Well... God have mercy on your soul.

What this means is that in 1989 at my middle school the hormones were in full bloom and so were the acres of roses, balloons, and teddy bears deposited in the tiny school office every February 14th.

I'd heard tales. I'd heard about how the florists made trip after trip, how the office overflowed with tokens of love purchased by the mothers of twelve and thirteen year old boys who, let's be honest, had no clue nor interest. Mothers of twelve and thirteen year old boys understand... after all, we're wishing someone would take our OWN husbands shopping.* Oh, I'd heard... and you know what? I had a boyfriend. I had a boyfriend for VALENTINE'S DAY. 

EPIC.

OK, I don't know if you can really call "dating" in middle school dating. What it was, mostly, was two people of opposite genders calling each other on the phone and then not really talking.... and seeing each other in the hall and saying "Hey!" in a somewhat happier tone than we might otherwise use. The real romance happened in the notes girls wrote back and forth to each other absolutely swooning over the FEELING put into that last "hey". And when he'd stop by your locker to say "hey" in the morning? Before class? Well someone turn on the Richard Marx, 'cause baby he was RIGHT THERE WAITING FOR YOU. 

I'll pause here while every woman of a certain age sings the chorus. You know you are.

The protocol at my middle school was simple- hands off until the end of the day. During homeroom/clubs (held during the last half hour of the day) the office secretary would make final announcements and then list off any students who had "items" waiting in the office. Any other day you didn't pay attention, unless it was your birthday and you had the parents that sent balloons and giant cookies and teddy bears. But Valentine's Day? On Valentine's Day EVERYONE listened. If you had a boyfriend you listened with a certain smugness. If you had a crush, you listened with EVERYTHING IN YOUR SOUL CROSSED THAT YOU WOULD HEAR YOUR NAME AND ZOMG! If you were single you kept talking to your friends and pretending NOT to listen (but you so totally were)  unless you had those parents that not only sent you balloons and giant cookies and teddy bears on your birthday but also for every other holiday ("Oh, look Jim! Let's send this Tree shaped balloon with Blue Jay conservation cookie to Suzie for Arbor Day!"). On February 14, 1989 I sat back in my desk, all prepared to give my friends the wide eyed "*I* have something? Me????? On Valentine's Day????" look... because I KNEW. Not only did I have A BOYFRIEND but said boyfriend had told me that he and his mom went out the night before and got "something" for me. I'd kept that little nugget to myself all day long, just waiting... waiting.

The list was long.... even though my last name started with "E" I knew it would be a while... Anderson... Brewer.... Coffman.... Drake... Fisher... wait. Back up. My friends were still half listening along, no squeal, no shocked looks. Maybe they were going by grade? Then another sixth grader squealed, right before an eighth grader and that wiped that idea out of the books. This had to  be a mistake... SURELY IT WAS A MISTAKE. I mean, he'd told me! He'd told me he and his mom had picked something out and it was being delivered. He meant here, right? Not my house? did he even know where I lived?

There had to be a mistake. So when the final bell rang I gathered up my things and marched down to the office, friends in tow. One had to pick up her balloons, giant cookie, and teddy bear anyway so it would be so simple for me to slip in and point out the... well, the whatever with my name on it that had been overlooked. The hall was filled with squealing girls and boys who just really wanted to go play basketball in the gym but whose mothers had told them to BE NICE. While my friend found her stuff I stepped into the quiet of the office.

"Excuse me." I wasn't the least bit shy or concerned. I KNEW it was just a simple mistake. "There's supposed to be something here for me. From my boyfriend." Emphasis on boyfriend. Because I HAD ONE. The secretary checked the list she had. No, nothing with my name on it. Maybe his name had been entered instead? No, nothing. Was there anything that hadn't been logged in yet? That they'd just read names off of? Anything?

Of course not. Oh the pre-teen HUMANITY.

I slipped out of the office, not sure if I was pissed off or sad or if I even really cared except that... that... I had a BOYFRIEND and I was supposed to get SOMETHING and my  name was going to be read OVER THE INTERCOM. But it wasn't. My friend was waiting for me with a raised eyebrow. "I thought I left something," I explained, and helped her navigate what had to be the inspiration for the movie "Up" down the hall and out the door, all the while envisioning what had to be the obvious cause- he was breaking up with me for someone else and SHE was who got the... whatever.  Some other girl (slut!) was his Valentine. Because when you're 11 and just figuring out this whole "boys and girls" thing... rationality isn't high on the list.

The next day as I finished my homework in homeroom, the end of day announcements came over the intercom. I paid zero attention until something caught me at the end. "You have something in the office, how nice!" My homeroom teacher smiled and passed me a hall slip so I could go get it and still make it out to the bus. The tables that had held countless roses and balloon bouquets and other shrapnel of the heart had been put away and the hall was mostly empty as I slipped into the office. "I have something?"

It was just one rose, one little red rosebud inside a little glass vase. Attached to the red ribbon around it was the standard florists card featuring flying, armed babies and floating hearts. My boyfriend had signed it in his nearly illegible scrawl... and he'd signed it "Love". LOVE. It didn't matter that the florist had misplaced it, causing it to arrive a whole 24 hours late, that I'd missed participating in the crush of feminine competition for "Whose Boyfriend Loves Her More". There wasn't another girl, I really was his Valentine. We'd only last another couple of weeks... by Spring Break we were old news. But on that day, February 15th, I not only had a BOYFRIEND, but one who signed my card with "Love". And as the bell rang and I stepped into the hall with my little token of "love", I realized that I stood out. Yesterday had just been a blur of red and pink and balloons and flowers and hearts... on February 15th my little rose was the star of the show.

"Hey," he said, passing by my friends and I as we analyzed his handwriting for secret clues.

"Hey," I smiled back. Cue the piano solo.... wherever you go, whatever you do.... 

*My husband is really actually freakishly good at picking out gifts most of the time. I couldn't throw him completely under the bus. But about 10% of the time I will not only throw him under the bus but back it up, drag him out, and throw him back under it again. Just sayin. 

If you take a Mom to the MMM...

If you take a Mom to the Million Milf March, she's going to ask to take her friends.
Her friends will want to go, because it's in New Orleans, and they'll want to share a room at the Hilton. Because they're sharing a room they'll start laughing as soon as they start unpacking, because someone probably remembered shot glasses but forgot underwear. When they see the shot glasses they'll decide to go to the hotel bar for a drink.When they have their drink, they'll decide they need to try a new shot too, so they'll ask the bartender to recommend something. When he serves them a lemon drop, someone is going to make a sour face, and everyone is going to laugh really really hard, until people are looking at them like they're crazy.

The people looking at them will remind the Moms that there is a Friday night event that they should probably go to. They'll leave, but decide to walk around a bit. When they walk around, they'll speculate on all the ways they could get in trouble that weekend. Then they'll see something that makes them laugh really hard again. This will make them think of how hard they laughed at the hotel bar and remind them again that they need to get to the Friday night event. So they'll walk to the bar and go upstairs where there are drinks and food and raffles and auctions. They'll get their drinks and food and buy raffle tickets. When they buy raffle tickets they get into a conversation with some women from somewhere else that they didn't know, but suddenly feel like they've known forever. Because it feels like they've known each other forever, they'll end up on the dance floor, dancing really enthusiastically to 80s music. This will go on for a while, until people tell the crazy women to leave. When they leave,they'll decide that they HAVE to go to Frenchmen street, by way of Bourbon street. When they go by way of Bourbon street there will be someone in an enormous yet well made plush vagina costume on the street, which will make them laugh, and they will laugh even harder when one of the friends breaks a flip flop and the night proceeds to get EPIC. When the night becomes EPIC they wonder how it can get any better the next day.

The next day they'll still be wondering when you get to the March. A Mom will  still be wondering when she checks in and gets a Special Cup. When she gets a special cup, she's going to need a drink to put in it, and when she goes to get her drink she finds that Hot Mess Mom has taken over that bar and is mixing the drinks. When HMM mixes the drinks they are strong. When the drinks are strong the MILFS decide to dance to the next bar, and maybe hula hoop and order drinks with giant plastic sharks in them. When MILFS order drinks with plastic sharks in them, they may reenact sharknado, which makes them want to order another drink with a plastic shark in it until it is time to go to the next bar, which people say is even better. When a Mom wonders how it can get better someone throws a blow up doll at her and hands her a shot. She'll dance with the blow up doll and take the shot and laugh when a MILF in a Wonder Woman costume takes the blow up doll and tangos away with it. When the doll tangos away she'll look around for her friends and realize that they're at the bar, watching the guys who are bartending. When she watches the guys bartending she realizes there is a very good reason her friends are watching so closely, and she has to take a picture. When she has to take a picture everyone gets in on it so she has to ask another MILF to take the shot. Then she and her friends and the other MILF will have the best conversation that they won't really remember later, except that they really like each other. They will all dance and sing and take more pictures. When they take more pictures, everyone will swear that they won't post them on Facebook without each other's approval. So when a Mom shares them later,  after everyone has returned to their regular lives, they'll all laugh really hard again. When she laughs really hard, it will remind her of all the fun she had and the great people she met. Thinking of them she'll friend them on facebook. When she friends them on Facebook, someone will ask her if she's going to next year's march.

Thank God for Blur!

And when you ask a Mom if she's going to the Million Milf March again... she's probably going to want to invite MORE friends.

The third annual Million Milf March, hosted by the ever crazy, ever hilarious, evermuch a HOT MESS blogger  Hot Mess Mom,  is being held back in crazy ol' Nola on October 3-4, 2014. Better yet, the proceeds go towards Lindy's Place, a New Orleans charity that helps homeless women break the cycle and become independent again. That's right, we're drinking for charity.  Want to learn more? Find it on Facebook or visit the March page at www.millionmilfmarch.com 

Vaguely amused? Want more? You can hit that follow button thing, or find me on Facebook. Fair Warning- I swear a lot and say the weirdest crap.