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Saturday, March 13, 2010

Date night

So Anneke asked me the other day how old s/he had to be to go on a date. "Twenty", I say without skipping a beat. “Seriously mom,” s/he responds clearly not pleased with my answer. “Well,” I think, scrambling for a response, “I think it depends a bit on whether you date girls or boys.”
“Why?”
“Um, well, teenage boys are different that teenage girls.”
Anneke laughs, “All the boys in my class are retarded.”
“Those are not the exact words I would use but, yes I think you should wait a few more years to start dating.”
This is one of those parenting moments where I must seem like I know what I am talking about, but actually don’t have a clue. I am wracking my brain to remember if I was even attracted to people at age 13. Yes, I suppose, but generally too terrified to talk to anyone I was remotely attracted to. I seem to recall more feeling towards pop icons than boys my age.

It is truly a wonder I have actually mated and had children.

“Do you think you have the courage ask someone out?” I ask secretly hoping this ends the whole is discussion.
“Yeah, sure, why not?”
Ok, so s/he is attracted to people and confident about asking them out. Definitely unfamiliar territory for me. “Maybe you should talk to your dad he has a lot more dating experience than I do.”
“No, dad is too old.”
“Just because he is older doesn’t mean he doesn’t know anything.”
A dismissive shrug says it all. A. is going through a phase (at least I hope it is a phase) where s/he doesn’t think much of her dad.

I decide to opt for honesty. “I can’t really give you advice, sweetie, I didn’t really date much until I got to university. I went to see Star Wars with a boy who asked me when I was nine but I don’t think that counts. I don’t know if there is a right age.”

A., a bit frustrated with this decides to cut to the chase.
“Well if I ask (insert name here) to the Canucks game will you drive us?”
“Sure.” I respond
“Can I have money?” s/he sheepishly asks.
“Yeah, how much?”
“Enough to buy us both food. The man usually pays.”
I bite my tongue. The feminist in me is cringing, but the mom of my baby butch is tickled.
“Yes I will drive you and give you money.”
So tonight as I type this my 13 year old is at GM place, wearing too much cologne, buying dinner for her date. I am not sure if her companion is aware they are on a date, but it hardly matters.
To top it off, Vancouver beat Ottawa soundly at tonights game.

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