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Homecoming on the Cliff

It was Homecoming week at the twins’ high school this past week. As far as the twins, their Homecoming experience couldn’t be more different. Girl Twin was all in for a month. Boy Twin showed no interest until five hours before the Homecoming dance.

The twins each have teenage love interests. (Oh, Yippie)

Elaine (and even Ivy) seemed to be enjoying the Homecoming experience. Me? Not so much. I erroneously thought Homecoming meant that alumni are invited back to their school for the opportunity to purchase and wear foam fingers, t-shirts and silly hats, all in school colors; which incidentally aren’t necessarily flattering to most people.

As far as Elaine and I, we were forbidden to return back to the Homecoming festivities. I guess forbidden, is not exactly what happened. I could never allow a 17 year-old to forbid me to do anything. I’ve earned these scars. Until they say, "Monner, this is your home now. You're going to be happy here.", I'm in charge. (Whoa, where was I going with that?) Anyway, I like to terrorize the twins and tell them, “Grandma and I are going to the dance and game. Grandma was big time at that school.” Me? I don’t think we need to talk about that.

The twins informed Elaine and I, that in 2019 no one is actually invited back. They say things like, “You aren’t going to the dance, parents don’t go to Homecoming dances.” Elaine and I let them think they’re right, but the truth is, both the game and dance are too late at night. I would have been in bed for a couple hours. We had no intention of going.

That said, Elaine (and Ivy) were involved in the Homecoming dance. Me? We will get to that in a minute. Elaine, Ivy and Girl Twin planned the Homecoming attire. It took months. It had to be perfect.

My experience with high school dances confuses me about “the perfect attire”. If I remember, the dance floor is dark, the dancers are holding each other close. No one can see the dresses anyway. Girl Twin had to have the perfect dress, perfect shoes and even the perfect hat. (She wore one of my cowboy hats. One of her friends also wore another of my cowboy hats. Yes. I have cowboy hats, and cowboy boots, and even cowboy shirts. Elaine thinks they look silly with my non-cowboy shorts.) The girls looked nice.

Boy Twin took a different path. Five hours before the start of the danced he said to me, “(Girl Friend) and I are going to the dance! I need black pants, a white shirt and a blue tie.” (Do you want to know something kinda cool? (Girl Friend’s) grandmother owned a yarn store!) Boy Twin and (Girl Twin) have a lot in common, once you get past the fact that she is NICE and pretty and he is, well, handsome.

Boy Twin and I ran over to the local J.C. Quarters store. An hour later, Boy Twin had $50 black pants, a $10 white shirt and a $35 blue tie. Me? I got to hand the clerk my debit card. That's what I did for Homecoming.

Boy Twin had four hours to wash his hair get dressed in his clothes and get to the reservoir for photos. We were late. For reasons unknown to me, Homecoming means taking photos of teenagers standing on a cliff overlooking the reservoir miles from the school.

An hour after Boy Twin's photo session, Girl Twin arrived at the same cliff with her group of friends. For crying out loud, they’re twins, can’t they do anything together? (More about that later) Elaine and I stood on a windy, cold cliff with two different sets of parents, taking photos of the twins and their friends for two hours. I need to remind myself that as good of time as that was, even that was better than sitting in a rainy football stadium.

The twins did something together for Homecoming. They t-p(ed) houses. Girl Twin was disappointed our house did not get t-p(ed). It seems her friends did not want to drive the forty miles to toilet paper our house. Personally, I was not disappointed.

The twins slept over at friends’ houses last night. Homecoming is over. Boy Twin will wear his black pants again. As for the white shirt and blue tie, check the local thrift store in a couple weeks.

Our crazy lives!


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