The Gaggling Goosey Groupies

"Mom!" called Youngest as he burst through the door.  "Brother's coming home with three girls."

There are many things a mother would like to hear someone say about her son. Things like, "He's on the A honor role!" or "He's been accepted into a great college!" or "He's won the Pulitzer Prize." All of those statements would make a heart beat with pride. But what do you make of, "He's coming home with three girls?" I suppose it's better than, "He's coming home with three stray cats!"

"Aha!" I said.  Minutes earlier I had considered how nice it would be to make a few cupcakes for anyone dropping by.  I frantically scraped the batter into cupcake paper holders. 

They entered into the door behind my son, giggling and talking.  He hung up his heavier jacket, grabbed a Cary Grant style hat, and a lighter leather coat. No doubt, he looked sharp.

I finished and walked over to where they were standing in the dining room. "Hi!"  Then I felt an odd panic coming over me.   I should recognize these girls. All of them, I would bet, have been in our house before. The problem is that the girls look alike.  Skinny.  Two have blond hair that hangs down, in a flowing style with a part on the side. Those same two wear makeup. 

I took a deep breath as if to jump into a swimming pool. "Okay, I should know you. But I'm old and my mind is going. Let's see if I can remember your name."

"I'm Jenna!" said the first one.

Ah yes. The girl who had the same name as Oldest's former girlfriend.  She's got bad acne and actually natural hair color than the ones with bleached out hair.

The next one looked at me as though I were a worm.  "Victoria," she said, as if I should have know.

Inwardly I groaned. Oldest's former girlfriend. I should have known.  But after a second I found myself secretly glad I hadn't remembered. She broke up with him twice by text. What happened to the days when boys and girls broke up and never talked again?

The third introduced herself again with a gesture toward her heart.  "I'm Barb." The tone of her voice somehow assured me that she was used to memory-challenged adults. I felt reassured that the younger generation was just fine with those of us who are innundated with teens who look alike.

"It's just that so many girls come here!" quipped Youngest, who had been somewhat hopping around, chewing an apple. 

I caught Oldest shoot his little brother a poision-dart glance.  Part of me wondered how karma would address the inequity of the time when Youngest would bring home a girl and his older brother would not be here to say, "Gee, he brings home lots of girls."

Then, the most incredible two things happened. First, the girls didn't stay around for warm cupcakes.  All of the teens decided to take off . Second, my Oldest son picked up their backpacks and carried them for the girls. This from the boy that acts like the vaacuum cleaner is too heavy, grumbles when we ask him to open doors when our hands are full, or protests if directed to help with any other menial labor intensive task.  He happily went down the street, his groupies around him,  shouldering a million pounds of homework, with a grin like a ten-year-old with a new puppy. 

I haven't figured out whether it's a good thing or not for our son to have groupies.  A part of me wishes that the girls were interested in books, theater or even farming!  But giggly girls?  It goes against my very feminist core. I realize it's a teenage boy thing, a mating dance thing, a thing.  God forbid he bring one of these girls home for marriage approval.  But most of all, I hope I can better remember their names, that I can find something distinctive about each so their name information doesn't go into my "garbage in, garbage out" file in my brain. For no matter what, they deserve at least that.