Keep your cooties to yourself!

So the other night my house was full of underagers.

Before your mind jumps to the affronted side of the gutter, let me explain myself.

The right side is obviously the affronted side

I have a younger sibling at perfect teen-adolescent high school age. And she had a little soirée the other night, when I happened to be at home, trying to catch up on sleep for an epic few days of work ahead.

Boy, did it bring back memories.

You could pretty much smell the hormones in the air. Girls squealing at decibels I thought were actually impossible for humans to reproduce, boys shuffling, making their little jokes and producing the cruiser or two they stole from their older sister or, if they are really cool, a 6-pack someone else bought for them.

ZOMG it TOTZ made my tongue BLUUEEE

I knew they would all be at least a little intimidated by me, purely because I have a car and can buy alcohol legally. Also because when I speak the tone of my voice is at least three octaves lower than any of theirs.

Even though they were all squealing and ‘pumping’ up their funky beats and seemingly having a good time, I couldn’t help feel awkward for them. I felt like they were all trying too hard to have fun. And then I thought… maybe that’s what we were all like. Maybe throughout all those little ‘gatherings’ and backyard parties we all genuienly thought Cruisers were a ticket to cool-dom and hooking up ( or as it used to be called in my day, ‘Getting,’ ) was a carefully planned operation in which friends from both sides would lodge enquiries with each other before the actual event took place, if it even did at all.

Maybe I’m just older now and look at their young faces (that are yet to sprout hairs, in the boy’s case,) and can’t help but wonder what form of joy they get from this. Pretending they aren’t nervous next to each other, nervously making jokes, nervously sipping fairy floss cruisers, ( but not too fast- don’t want to vomm that up too quick,) nervously hypothesising about who might want to hook up with who but not actually having the vaguest idea what they would do should the situation eventuate.

Thank God puberty ends.

But I mean, I guess adolesence really is a good place to start. Socially, I mean. Not that you really get much of a choice whether you go through it or not,  but where better to get all your social awkwardness out and learn what NOT to do whilst everyone around you is covered in acne and (if they are lucky, ) bum fluff?

So maybe its the hope that they are on their way to a life of succesful social interactions via this awkward pit-stop that makes them enjoy these awkward little gatherings. Or maybe its that whole high-school-esque obsession with social power that provides enough distraction to overcome the awkward, ‘almost’ hormone exchanges.

Let’s hope that by next soirée enough awkward has left their systems so that their squeals don’t permeate my Tarantino session.