Showing posts with label Avril is wearing pink these days. Show all posts

Shhhh! I have just received some secret photos via email, photos of the Middle Child carousing about and otherwise being naughty whilst she was out of town at the Ashland Oregon Shakespeare Festival. If I had known Ashland was such a den of depravity, I would never have allowed her to go. So, here it is, a word to the wise . . .

This is the Middle Child with her adorable and sensible friend (with whose grandparents the girls went to the festival to feast on Shakespeare, not, I repeat, not racoon eyes). The Hat; I knew she owned this hat but I have never seen her wear it. The fact that she looks smashing in it has nothing to do with, well with . . , with anything, that's what!

And here I was fearing my daughter would refuse to commune with makeup until she was at least 33.

Yet, it gets worse.

This is the Middle Child, my middle child, attempting to steal a very cool vintage purple bike, most likely a Schwinn, a bike very much like the one I owned at her age (vintage even then--yes, it's true!) only it wasn't purple, mostly rusty, which was stolen from in front of my house during a garage sale by a punk of a kid whom I spotted riding around on it before he took off down the street, never to be seen again. I hope he enjoyed it, rust and all. The punk.

Here she is looking oh-so-Avril-Lavigne whilst secretly coveting the car to her right. Only, she told me about it so I guess it isn't so secret. At least it isn't anymore. Take that, Middle Child! Your secret is out!

But still, it gets worse.

Here she is bumming around, literally, with a bottle in her hand. So what if it is only root beer--isn't this a fore-shadowing of times to come? And the racoon eyes!?!?! The kid is 13! Again, MC, Ashland is so not La la land! What were you thinking? That you were away from your mother's tender care and vigilant observation? That no one would find out? Stab me in the heart another dozen times, why donja?

Note the chocolate around the mouth, the young and tender barely-a-teenaged-mouth, the one that looks so incongruent under those racoon eyes.

I guess this is what thirteen is all about, experimenting, pushing the boudaries, testing the waters, playing with fire . . .

So, a word to the wise, a warning, call it what you will; watch yourself or pics of you in your diapers (or not) will be all over the internet. You know who you are . . .