Remember the popular kids in high school? How they seemed to float through the halls completely unaware of the rest of the world let alone the peewees who hung on every move, every word, every “everything” that the said popular kids did. Remember? If you were one of the peewees then you probably recall a great deal more about those “interactions” than the admired ones—remember, they were unaware.
Popularity can be a good thing. No one can dispute that. But it’s powerful and at times daunting like a wicked spell … two-part newt, one-part batwing, dash of ground-up beetle … and while the peewees might have given anything just to sample the damning potion, they might not have welcomed all the side effects, especially the ones that stick after high school is long over.
Case in point, the MILF. The MILF was probably a popular kid in her hay day, and she probably loved it … I mean popularity does have its advantages. BUT. When you grow up and become the MILF, it isn’t as flattering, or as wanted as the now grown-up peewees might think it is.
For arguments sake, I will admit that some people think being called a MILF is flattering. I mean I suppose it’s better than the alternative—or is it?? The thought of some pubescent ninth grader labeling one of his friend’s mothers a MILF is rather, well … gross. And I cannot imagine that the said MILF would be overly thrilled with her status. I mean ewwwww!
BUT. Is the icky attention better than no attention at all?
SIDEBAR: Shifting gears a bit, let’s address the hardhats. Personally, I cringe when I have to run by a construction site. The thought of a catcall or even a nod makes me ill. And yet I have a friend who “received” her first catcall last summer. She had recently lost weight and was soooo excited when she told me about her catcall … it was cute. I felt good for her. And I know it made her feel good about herself too … NOTE to all the hardhats out there, I am in no way whatsoever encouraging whistles or catcalls while you are perched atop a building—pay attention to the crane before it drops a pipe on your head.
Alas, I have no conclusion for you. No answer to the “is icky attention better than no attention at all” question. Sorry. But at least I’ve given you something to bring up at book club. I mean ‘cause no one ever really talks about the book anyway.
Oh, and I don’t just make this stuff up out of thin air. A few years back a very forward 17-year-old had the nerve to call me a MILF in front of a few other boys. I was so grossed out I had no response. I just exited the room. The other day I told my husband about it and asked him what he would have done had he been there. His response … let’s just say that that one-time 17-year-old should thank his lucky stars every day that my husband wasn’t there. And we’ll leave it at that.
Today’s post inspired by the Daily Prompt: What advice would you give your teenage self? … and in case you’re still reading and want to know what that advice is—it’s pretty simple. Just enjoy your days, popular or not, it’s temporary … so relish in the moment AND wear sunscreen!!! Duh!
Cover image of Red Hot Riding Hood from an animated short directed by Tex Avery, released May 1943.
DISCLAIMER: I’m a writer and an editor. And I try my best to make sure every post is articulate and free from errors. However, being that I edit my own work—and it’s next to impossible to properly edit your own work—I admit, occasionally there may be an error or two I miss. But doing so doesn’t make me an idiot so don’t be mean. Just smile, pat yourself on the back for finding an error and be glad you’re not the only one who makes mistakes sometimes … xoxox
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