So my sister and I went to watch a “kid” we’ve known forever play his last home high school volleyball game, a kid I once babysat and played Pokemon with, if staring at cards with odd creatures on them and going “WTF?” can be considered “playing.”
I’m a professional girl long removed from high school, so it’s been ages since I’ve been inside of a high school.
I walked into the high school, took a seat in the bleachers with the group of family and friends, and I’m immediately struck by something odd. The girls. They are orange. Okay? Orange. So orange you couldn’t even see their lips. Just orange.
I turned to my sister. “Sister of PittGirl,” I whispered, “Why are all of the girls orange? Is this something they’re eating? Or are they just really shitty at matching their foundation to their skin color?”
Sister of PittGirl whispered, “Prom.”
Oh. That’s right. Prom was last week. That one day out of the year where suddenly it’s attractive to be as orange as one can be. Except it’s not even a little bit attractive. It’s weird-looking. Cut it out, girls.
Accepting the fact that every 17-year-old girl I saw was going to be orange, I took a look at the boys warming up for the game, and I turned to my sister. “SISTER OF PITTGIRL,” I shouted, “WHAT IN THE HELL ARE THEY FEEDING THE BOYS THESE DAYS?!”
Giants. All of them. Giant muscles. Giant jumps. Volleyballs leaving craters in the gym floor. Whiskers. Deep voices. JUMP SERVES!
Not to get all get off my lawn with you, but back in the day when I went to high school, I seem to remember all of the boys averaging out at say, 5′ 10” and maybe 170 lbs. Not sure. But I am sure that they weren’t the huge, hulking monsters capable of taking my head off with a volleyball that this group of “youngsters” was.
Also. That “little kid” I used to play Pokemon with is coming with my huge, entire family to the beach this year and he is SO going to be on my team for the Family of PittGirl Annual Summer Olympics (events include volleyball, bocce, limbo [that generates some stares], and tennis). I’ve already called dibs.
I’m just going to sit in the sand with an umbrella drink and watch him pick my family members off one by one. “Hey, kid, that particular Sister of PittGirl over there? She’s next.”
God bless whatever the hell they’re feeding the kids these days.