True to form, the girls were running late. A couple couldn't decide what to wear, one forgot her make-up and another was decompensating over not having the proper shade of metallic, lavender eyeshadow, while others were furiously texting friends who were already at the concert, yelling the latest news throughout the halls of my house.
"EILEEN IS ALREADY THERE, AND SHE SAYS SHE 'RAN INTO' JOEY!!"
"OH, YEAH, RIGHT!"
"OOOOOOOOOO!!!! MATT IS GOING TO GO CRAY-CRAY ON HER!!"
"HOLD ON, I'M GOING TO SNAP CHAT HER AND TELL HER SHE'S SCREWING HERSELF!"
"EXCUSE ME?" I say in a tone which suggests correction is needed.
"Oh, sorry, Mrs. S.... I'M GOING TO SNAP CHAT HER AND TELL HER SHE'S 'MAKING A POOR DECISION!!' "
Decorum. A little decorum.
The finally were ready to head out to the car and as they filed past me, I checked their outfits. The jean cutoff shorts were a little too short for my liking. The tanks tops were a little short, but covered the midriff (for the most part). Their makeup was little heavier than what they wore to school, but not much. It was borderline acceptable. I put away my fashion police badge.
We piled in the car and made our way through traffic to the concert venue.
As we approached the drop off area, concert goers began to appear. They were hopping out of their cars and hoofing it towards the arena.
All the girls had their noses buried in their phones as I muttered, "Oh my GAWD."
The dismay in my voice summoned the girls' attention and their heads all popped up and they looked out the car windows.
There, walking beside us, in front of us, and everywhere we looked we saw girls in fishnets and– their underwear. The tiniest boyfriend cut panties (apparently gold lamé is the all the rage), homemade bedazzled and feathered bras, and make-up jobs intense enough to scare the grim reaper and his sickle back into hiding.
With the girls mouths gaped open, I swung the car into the "passenger drop-off" zone. Quietly, they all grabbed their phones as they opened the car doors.
I reminded my daughter where I'd be picking them up. As hootchie girls walked past her, she stood just outside the car, poking her head inside the car nodding, "Okay."
With that and her "properly" dressed friends now standing with her, my daughter turned away and yelled, "HERE COME THE NUNS, PEOPLE! HERE COME THE NUNS!" as she shut the car door.
...And I laughed as I drove off solo in my car which is adorned with her high school issued license plate frame which reads, "St. Catherine's Saints".
That Catholic education is finally beginning to pay off.
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