While dropping my sweet baby boys off at school today, I notice a pretty girl leaning against the wall, waiting for the gate to open to the playground. She was probably a little older than my Junior, maybe 12? A sixth grader? She was tall and lean, with super long dark hair her mother had obviously taken the time to curl with a curling iron. She was wearing an adorable hot pink and black plaid, pleated skirt with a black top and black boots that hit her at the knee. I couldn't get over how stylish she looked for such a young girl. I would have killed for that outfit.
She stood next to another girl who was shorter and fuller, but trying very hard to be equal in the cool department. I wished my boys a good day as they climbed out of my car, slinging their backpacks over their shoulders as they walked toward the gate.
I watched as they walked in front of Cool Girl. And then I saw her face light up as my Junior walked toward her. She smiled, her eyes sweeping him from head to toe. She watched him walk by and then turned to her little friend.
"He's cute," she said with a giggle, as they turned back for a second look.
Um, excuse me?? Oh no you don't! Listen here Pinky McSkank. Don't you be looking at my baby with those goo goo eyes. You keep your acrylics out of my son, you hear me?? And where is your mother and what was she thinking sending you to school dressed like this? Where are your pig tails? Why isn't there a picture of Barbie on your t-shirt? Are those boots appropriate for PE? I need a copy of the school dress code, stat!
It was everything I could do to keep myself from honking my horn and shaking my finger at the little trollop. I mean, yeah, I realize my kid is handsome and looks super cool in his sunglasses and Foo Fighters t-shirt, but he is eleven. ELEVEN. He doesn't need an older woman getting between him and his GI Joes.
Please God, please. Just give me a few more years where I am the most important girl in his life...