I Don’t Recall Buying a Ticket for this Ride and I Would Like to Get Off Now, Please

When DemiGoddess the Elder told me that she wanted to go to the homecoming dance with a group of girlfriends, I thought, okay. She’s in high school now. That sounds like fun, and it's nice that girls nowadays don't find it necessary to have a date in order to attend the dance.

When she told me she’d need a dress to wear to the dance, I thought, ack, not in the budget, and anyway, why does she need a dress-up dress if she’s just going with girlfriends?

Then I was ashamed of myself for assuming that the only reason for her to dress up would be to go somewhere with a boy. So we went dress shopping, and luckily found a gorgeous, perfectly age-appropriate little number (at a deep, deep discount, no less), that we both loved. Score one for Mom. She looked beautiful she had a wonderful time at the dance.

A few weeks later Ms. Elder announced that the Sadie Hawkins dance was coming up in November. Apparently, at school they had collected requests of music to play at the dance, and she mostly just wanted to go and see if they'd play the They Might Be Giants song she had requested. Really. Most of her friends had boys in mind to ask, and well, yeah, there was a boy she was thinking about asking too.

(Cue the screaming in my head.)

As casually as I could manage, I asked her to tell me about this potential date rapist young man. He plays football and hockey (oh, dear…), is in advanced math (hopeful...), and he watches Project Runway (how soon can he move in?).

So, I wondered, what is the next appropriate parenting move here? Do I Google him and his parents and his next door neighbors? Check to make sure none of his immediate family members are listed in the national sex offender registry? Stake out his house and sift through his trash to check for drug paraphernalia and/or "Thank you for your generous contribution to the Bush/Cheney 2004 campaign!" letters?

I just barely started letting my daughter ride her bicycle out of my eyesight, and I'm supposed to just let her go off with some hockey-playing hormone with legs? I think not.

Then I remembered to inquire about his name.

Jacob.

Last name?

Wood.

The Goddess is going to need more mixer.