Ahh, cliques…the hair flipping, eye rolling, lip curling, you can’t hang with us because the label on your butt is so last season…‘oh. my. gawd Becky, look at her butt..it is sooo big!’
Wait a minute, that last part’s from a Sir Mixalot song…oops!
Anyhoo, you get the point. I thought, erroneously as it turns out, that I was done with cliques once I left the confines of high school. Stupid, stupid girl. How could I have forgotten I’m the mother of a girl?
The Diva got her first taste of one of these coteries last year when she was painfully excluded from playing with the cool girls because she was too ‘tomboy’. Frankly, this just means she could beat the snot of out ’em and go on about her rat-killin’…but was still so uncool that to be seen in the same day with her would’ve sounded the death knell for everyone else’s social life.
Imagine my surprise (and skepticism) when she announced last week that she’d been assimilated into the in-crowd because she was now considered ‘friendly’ to the group. Sounds like the Collective from Star Trek. Or the U.N.
Funny how you don’t hear about male cliques, now that I think about it. Nuh-uh. Guys have gangs or if they’re honorably inclined in the behavior department, ‘bands of brothers’. Girls? They have Estrogen Posses.
It’s woefully inadequate to tell The Diva to just be the same sweet girl she’s always been. “Just be you and remember when it was you on the outside. Don’t be mean to the non-groupies, okay?” I lectured from the driver’s seat. Cue her eye roll.
If she starts wearing skirts and headbands and gives up her dream of being able to pee while standing, I’ll give ’em a ringing endoresement. Until then, The Estrogen Posse rides again!
her me us luck!