It’s a phrase turned as often as “there’s nothing to eat” or “I need ten bucks.” Whether Megan Fox is on the screen or a new girl shows up in class, “she’s so hot” is a recurring theme in daily conversations with my teen sons.
My hotness is an issue too. Specifically, the flashes of hotness, mood swings, and assorted pre-menopausal goodies like headaches and insanity my perky young female gynecologist assures will hang out for the next six years. (I really hate that Dr. Hottie.)
My sons are consumed with hotness at a time I have perhaps never felt more unstable. 17-year old DEATHMETAL has exclusively dated a hot cheerful blonde, whom we’ll call Maura, for more than a year. Maura has impossibly long legs which rock skinny straight Hollister jeans so effectively I am compelled to drive off a cliff screaming “IT WAS THOSE JEANS! MAURA’S BOO-TAY MADE ME DO IT!!!!”
Maura is a real farmer’s daughter—sensible, polite, and up at dawn with chores and designer goats to tend. She could be the calendar girlfriend of my dreams was I not this flaming hot ‘n hateful maniacal mommy.
My sons frequently mention a hot new girl, but they fork over precious little information causing me to sift through their clues like a profiler. They have no idea how lucky it is for them I am frugal and just google (face it—background checks and PIs are expensive). For example, I might ask them, “Is she goth?” Frequently, OMG comes as the answer, but a NOT REALLY raises a big ol’ red flag.
Implications of gothic-ness? Good Lord! They run the gamut from peanuts to the paranormal! I mean she could be lovable free-spirited Pippy Longstocking Goth-lite, or we could have a social deviant on our hands (poised to burn the house down for a misguided resentment of French Country design!).
The eighth grade SURFER is a thorn too. Still too young to date, he has a lot to say about Bri-ana and Tati-ana—the hottest, coolest chicks at school who share his affinity for post-hardcore bands and British humor. SURFER’s the baby, so it’s hard to let go.
Rather than roll with Mother Nature, zip my cake hole, and accept he is now part of a teen universe (with hot ‘anas lurking in every Abercrombie & Fitch), I instead cruelly go off on their names (It’s wicked messed up! I blame a dwindling estrogen supply!).
The annoying pronunciation of ‘Briana’ essentially alienates all of us in the North as well as those of European descent. Exhibit A; the first syllable Bri is pronounced with a hard i (like BRIDE!), and the second is anna like the late Miss Smith. I protest that Scarlet O’Hara’s version is long overdue for an upgrade. How ‘bout Bree-AHNA? She could even—dare I say? Drop the AHNA, allowing the lone BREE to bump her skyward in status!
Perspiration trickles down my temple now when I’m fully invested in a hot flashy meaningless rant.
How can Tatiana have no nickname? It is inconceivable an adolescent could bravely drag those four Italianesque soap opera syllables through the halls! I am full of wisdom to save her.
“What about Tia or the fun-loving ‘Tot’?” (the suggestions caused his face to contort and his lips to say “She is never coming to this house–EVER” and then the middleschool surfing Romeo watched me speed dial Dr. Hottie to move up the appointment to get pills for the ‘pause).
Just when did Kitty from That 70’s Show creep into my consciousness and behavior? Why divide my time worrying about premature grandchildren, suicidal breakups, and eighth grade ‘anas’?
Where can I order a copy of Coping with Hotties and Headaches for Wacked Moms? Wow. It’s scary to think I could be more emotionally overwrought than my teens at a time they truly need guidance.
Maura stopped over after school the other day and wrapped those farm girl limbs around me in the sweetest of Hollister hottie hugs. What a precious hottie. No matter how the ‘pause messes up this mommy, there will always be a warm welcome for the ‘Anas in the house.
Supervised—but really warm.
Michele Ranard loves her teens and their many friends. She is muddling through this crazy life as a counselor, tutor, and a freelancer with a blog at www.cheekychicmama.com