I learned that I am uncool.
This hurts almost as much as when I found out that Milli Vanilli couldn't sing.
Taylor Swift is Bailey's favorite singer, so I splurged for good seats. My baby girl is worth every penny. All thirty-thousand of them. I was really looking forward to this mother/daughter time together. Special moments seem so infrequent these days.
|Our T-Swift Vantage Point|
I was crazy excited when I gave Bailey those tickets! The first thing that she said was, "Awesome! But...uh... is somebody going with me?"
Of course somebody is going with you! I am. Duh.
But apparently, what she meant to say was, "Is somebody going with me who is cool?"
Ohhhh. Well, of course there is! I am. Duh.
When Taylor Swift took the stage, I was up on my feet - dancing and singing along word-for-word. I threw my hands up in the air and waved 'em like I just didn't care. And when she brought out T.I. as her special, surprise guest? SHUT UP! His parole must have hit just in time. I was having a blast!
I looked over at Bailey. You know, hoping to do that thing that two girlfriends do when they are at a concert together? When they grab each other's arms and scream their bloody heads off?
But instead, this is what I saw.
|(This is what humiliation looks like)|
Poor Bay. And who could blame her?
Please allow me to paint you a picture. This is me dancing at my wedding reception.
|Whomp! There it is!|
Are you starting to feel Bailey's embarrassment?
Okay, so I'm not accusing anybody of anything, BUT Bailey did have my phone for a while...
|That must be a typo. I accidentally type" ok" when I mean to type "awesome!" all the time. |
Don't you? Please say yes.
I came to the very sad realization that ten years must mark the first time in a daughter's life when she is aware of her mother's ridiculousness. I thought I had another two years to go - maybe even three, tops.
Next time Taylor Swift is in Atlanta, I promise to take the same amount cash and spread it across three seats in Section 215. Bailey can invite a cool friend so they can sing, scream and forget that I'm even there. Then, I can stand with my arms crossed, looking at them with an annoyed expression that says: "Sheesh. Kids these days."
That's what being a real Mom is all about.*