EXPOSURE

Vintage Retro Jr. Class Pres~in character for opening assembly

~eat your heart out, John Travolta

Hi, peeps. I'm still recovering from yesterday...and last week...and this past month...and pretty much all of December through July......and really, everything that has happened since probably 1989. But that's another story for another day. Today is about yesterday, which is really about the past, and living vicariously through my second son's high school experiences...which I insist on playing a starring role in...not because I WANT to, people...but because I HAVE to...in order to satisfy the "DO-OVER" demons. They look like Prince. And they have big hair. And they wear shoulder pads with Miami Vice jackets. At least mine do~yours might be from a different era. They never really leave you alone, until you've proven yourself worthy to all of the A-holes in your memory banks. Anyway~

You know how people say, "If I could go back for just one day, I'd..." fill in the blank? Yeah, well, I did. Yesterday. It was the Jr. Class Officers movie making day, and yours truly was the writer/director/producer/choreographer/cinematographer/caterer... and yeller at sonner.

Son~"Hey, Mom, I don't think you're--"

Perspiring mom~"SON! (weak smile) Honey? SHUT IT!"

Son~"Mom, seriously, this isn't--"

Melting Mother~(angry two fingered eyeball point)

Son~"But--"

Black mascara eye boogered, red faced, rasping breath matriarch~"DEAR! I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!" (sharp hand puppet mouth close)

Course I didn't. I missed hordes and gobs of shots that I'd intended to take. But listen, folks, when you've got a perimenopausal woman, running backwards in heels as she tries to film eight pairs of shoes walking to the beat of the Bee Gee's~in 100 degrees with 97% humidity~for two freaking hours~all while trying to act totally unaffected by the sludgy blood pounding through her weakening vessels as it tries to escape out her ears~well, you can just imagine my breezy demeanor and light hearted laughter echoing through the early August high school hallways.

Anyway, Do-Overs aren't nearly as much fun as I thunk them to be. On account of I won't even get my name in the credits of this brilliant opening assembly production. On account of there's no official moniker for MOTHER OF JR. CLASS PRES. On account of APPARENTLY, I HAD my day in the awesome 80's sun and now, it's HIS millennium time to disco ball shine.

Which is OK with me. Cuz if these wrinkles, freckles and sunspots are any indication, I've had more than my fair share of exposure. Time to fold up that silver reflector and take my chaise lounge to the cool shadows of the wind beneath his wings.

Go ahead and soar, son. I've got the fan positioned juuuuust right.