Aselin

Sometimes the universe looks out for me. Usually it doesn't, but I can tell it is thinking of me when I'm entertained.

Raising a teenager is an activity that deserves its own special awards. I got one today.

Teenage girls interests and focus narrow to an almost myopic scope. Universally their interests are not school, grades, curfew, clean rooms, or nutrition. Nope, their interests are, in no particular order, boys, hair, clothes, boys, clothes, hair and how their hair and clothes look to boys.

I'm not criticizing, I get it. I went through the same stage. It shuts all progression of time and space as those of us not enslaved by the minutia of lash length, curl variance and jean branding are held hostage to the amount of time it takes to get those details just right. So we wait, and wait, and wait...

Now, a quick digression, as I watch my own daughter gussy herself up each day - I'm WAY impressed. I was a teen fashion disaster. And not it a good way. Her creations come out pretty well. Mostly she has learned the art of 'less is more' when it comes to make-up, and 'more is more' when it comes to hemlines. I was not so evolved as a teen.

Back to today. She's primping and prepping for a night out with the girls. We have a deadline so the other family members are in the car inching out of the driveway as she comes running out, jumping in the passenger seat.

WHOOOO WHEEEE - I audibly note that it's a good thing her activity is outside since she has a gallon of perfume on. She giggles and says "Yeah, I had sort of a smell so I put a few extra spritzes on."

Ok, not a bad idea, but as I'm driving through the neighborhood I start to think...what kind of smell? I look over and notice with glee that she has borrowed her Daddy's sweatshirt.

I start laughing so hard I can barely speak. I almost have to pull over as she is begging me to tell her what is so funny.

"Well, you know how your Dad is training for a marathon?"

"Yeah..."

"That's his sweatshirt, and he trains in that sweatshirt, and it's really, truly a sweat-shirt."

She screams and says "It was hung up!!! On a hanger!!!!"

"So it could dry out from his run this morning, and yesterday, and the day before... it hasn't been washed this week."

I can't express the joy at this moment. We did not have time to return home for a change of clothes. Her activity was outside at night, so she would need the sweatshirt. This was too funny: she was a beautiful, perfumy, sweaty, stinky, lovely mess.

Yep, that's my girl.