Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Why I Love the Breakfast Club

It's late, but I'm feeling guilty for not posting today.
I had a nice meal with my friends Michelle and Mary and watched Idol and Love Monkey...returned home to hang with Jennifer and Holly...drank too much wine.

I was having a conversation with Mary tonight about things we did in high school, or didn't do, for fear of getting caught. I was telling Mary that I never did anything that I was afraid of getting caught doing, and I was constantly convinced that my parents were monitoring my every move--an idea that I do not think was entirely unfounded. Here is my story:

Ok, so I'm 12 years old, maybe 11 and a half. I'm spending the night at my friend Marnie's house. The backstory: I lived in suburban Maryland while I was growing up. Though that area tends to be overrun with townhouses and condos, I lived in a neighborhood that, for whatever reason, never really developed. My yard was almost two acres. We were far from our nearest neighboors, which was not the experience of most of my friends. I was envious. I couldn't ride my bike to people's houses or go next door to play. Marnie could. She lived in one of those overdeveloped areas I envied so much.

My mom takes me to Marnie's at 3 in the afternoon. Please refresh in your memory that we are 11 or 12 and in middle school and that it is 3 in the afternoon. Marnie met me at the door wearing a party dress. I don't mean the scanty things that we now think of as party dresses--think 1990, floral print, boat neck, sailor-y. She was wearing it because it was new and because she wanted to show it to me. My mother took one look at her and decided that we were sneaking out to some wild, 12 year old, floral dress party.

Marnie and I went over to our friend Alyson's house and played basketball in the street for a while. (I'm sure that those of you who know me are laughing to think of me, at 12 or any other age, playing street basketball.) Then Alyson decided to teach me about the New Kids on the Block. You can imagine that this took a while. I had to study the pictures, listen to the tape, pick a favorite, declare undying love, etc. Finally, Alyson's mom comes upstairs to her room. "Meg," she says, "You'd better come downstairs. The police are here."

So it seems that my mom called Marnie's as soon as she got home in order to break up the floral drinking party. Marnie's sister reported that we were at Alyson's. No one answered at Alyson's, so my parents showed up with the police. I'm going to say it again: my parents showed up with the police. After ascertaining that I had played basketball and learned about NKOTB, they left without apologizing. To this day they have never said they were sorry for humiliating my tender 13 year old self in front of Marnie and Alyson and pretty much the entire neighborhood. Their only concession to their mistake and mistrust of me and floral dresses was that I still got to spend the night.

That night I saw The Breakfast Club for the first time. When Emilio asked Ally, "What did they do to you?" I silently answered, "They called the police to my friend's house!"

I love you, John Bender, and I always will.

3 comments:

penelope said...

Dear Megs,
I love your blog.
Xoxo,
Penelope

Megs said...

:) That one was especially for you, Pen.

Space Kase said...

I remember that story. I love that story. sigh. I miss sharing crazy mother stories. Because, as you know, sometimes women end up dead.

So what has yours done lately? Mine has entered her worst ever period of neurosis and self-doubt, tied to writing, of all things, and though I'm seething with envy, I'm supposed to comfort her. Blah!