Is it just me or did the summer of 2013 go down quicker than a six pack in front of Tom Doyle?
Just when I started to get into the groove of hot nights and day trips to the Dairy Barn in Randolph (It’s the soft serve I can’t resist), it’s time to pack up the bathing suits and boogie boards and get serious again.
And by serious, I mean school. And as bad as I feel for the kids, whose lazy summer days will soon turn into 6 a.m. wakeup calls, I feel sorrier for the parents. Sure, the children might not be wanting entertainment 24/7 like the past two months, but it’s kind of sad to let go of that summer spirit, where the biggest decision is rainbow sprinkles or chocolate.
Now we have to worry about homework. (An aside about homework: what is with all of it? And what is it with parents having to micromanage it? I remember my mother telling me to do my homework and I’d either do it at that moment, or do it on the bus like every other average student with no intention of going to an Ivy League school.) Now, we are all learning “new math” and the history of paleolithic people all over again. It’s like “Groundhog Day”, except this time with more algebra.
Anyway, in the spirit of going back to school, I decided to concentrate on the positive. The First Day of School Outfit.
It was the only thing that distracted me from the descending dread of knowing that I was going to go back to place where I would be forced to understand fractional components, play crab soccer and eat salisbury steak once a week.
And they expected us NOT to smoke in the bathroom?
Here’s a little smattering of the History of Bad Decisions by Yours Truly:
It started off well! I think this is first grade.
This is second. Still not bad.
Fourth. I’m starting to take a few chances with lace collars and kilts. This does not bode well.
I can’t find my fifth grade picture, which is GOLD because I am wearing wool knickers and a wool blazer with tights and a long-sleeved blouse. Who cares if it was 85 degrees in the shade. This was my BACK TO SCHOOL OUTFIT and nothing, not even small-animal frying heat was going to change my carefully-planned out sartorial statement.
Sixth grade. Casual, with a hint of maturity (see denim skirt) but keeping it 6th-grade real with a Garfield folder. Seriously. Also, very awkward stage. This continues until college.
I’m thinking this is eighth grade, because that was the year prairie skirts and denim jackets with puffy sleeves were all the rage, leaving an entire generation with photos that will embarrass them for years to come.
And this is sophomore year. There are no words. Except NOT shown in the photo are my hot pink heels with bows on the back. Honestly, no wonder no one asked me to the prom.