Cotill...huh?
We got something in the mail the other day, addressed to the parents of the youngster. He was (or is) cordially invited to join the South J'ville Cotillion. I'm sitting there, staring at it, wondering....Cotillion? WTF?!? Who are these people and how the hell did they get the youngster's name?
A day later it made a little more sense. We got an e-mail from one of the parents at his school, who apparently is involved in this thing. This person considered herself extremely lucky to secure invitations for the whole 7th and 8th grade class. OK, I felt a little better about it all. I was sitting there with the invite with visions of stuck up youngsters in tuxedos and ball gowns, and debutantes and a whole lotta shit that just isn't us...or for sure isn't the youngster. At least I knew his whole class was getting invited. Still, I was thinking...you gotta be kidding. He won't want to go, and I'm certainly not going to force him.
Oh how wrong I was. (See? It does happen.) The youngster, it seems, already knows about all things cotillion, and feels all special that he was invited. It seems last year a few of the kids were invited, went and liked it, and he was hoping he'd get invited too. "You'll let me go, won't you?"
Damn, the youngster's growing up. I'm assuming this picture in my head of stuck up kids leading each other in a box step is a bit outdated. I can't imagine friends of his saying they had a good time at some function where that was the order of the day. I know it's a matter of going to some dances, and I guess he thinks he's ready for all that. I know when I was going into 8th grade, I may have been ready for something like that, but it wasn't making it's presence known in my mailbox, in the form of an invite to the East Steelton Cotillion. I'm also pretty certain that if there had been such an invitation, back in my day, it would have involved tuxedos and more stuffiness that I could handle, and box stepping my bored ass through the evening.
So last night I wrote these people a check, so he can be in Cotillion. It still sounds a bit too fancy for my taste.
A day later it made a little more sense. We got an e-mail from one of the parents at his school, who apparently is involved in this thing. This person considered herself extremely lucky to secure invitations for the whole 7th and 8th grade class. OK, I felt a little better about it all. I was sitting there with the invite with visions of stuck up youngsters in tuxedos and ball gowns, and debutantes and a whole lotta shit that just isn't us...or for sure isn't the youngster. At least I knew his whole class was getting invited. Still, I was thinking...you gotta be kidding. He won't want to go, and I'm certainly not going to force him.
Oh how wrong I was. (See? It does happen.) The youngster, it seems, already knows about all things cotillion, and feels all special that he was invited. It seems last year a few of the kids were invited, went and liked it, and he was hoping he'd get invited too. "You'll let me go, won't you?"
Damn, the youngster's growing up. I'm assuming this picture in my head of stuck up kids leading each other in a box step is a bit outdated. I can't imagine friends of his saying they had a good time at some function where that was the order of the day. I know it's a matter of going to some dances, and I guess he thinks he's ready for all that. I know when I was going into 8th grade, I may have been ready for something like that, but it wasn't making it's presence known in my mailbox, in the form of an invite to the East Steelton Cotillion. I'm also pretty certain that if there had been such an invitation, back in my day, it would have involved tuxedos and more stuffiness that I could handle, and box stepping my bored ass through the evening.
So last night I wrote these people a check, so he can be in Cotillion. It still sounds a bit too fancy for my taste.
John put this out here at 7:10 AM
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