Somewhere along the line, I forgot what it is like to be a fifteen-year-old girl.
Specifically, there are a few rules that I have been schooled in, thanks to V and her self-assured wisdom of all things.
Lesson 1: The pool that has the water slides and the cool fountains and dumping buckets is fun, but is much less cool than the very small and boring pool down the street. This was ruled on once it was established that the "boring" pool comes equipped with several very cute teenage lifeguards. Apparently, looking cute in your string bikini in front of cute boys is WAY more important than actually having fun at the pool. (Like, DUH!)
Lesson 2: Being seen in public for 15 minutes before getting into the pool is just cause to spend 35 minutes in the bathroom applying makeup. Which will wash off 10 seconds after you get into the pool, leaving raccoon rings around your eyes. Which you will then spend the next 15 minutes wiping away with the back of your hand. Apparently, this all evens out - with bonus points for looking hot before you got into the pool. Especially when you realize that those lifeguards? They're, like, really cute.
Lesson 3: When the man at the coffee shop has his, er, barn doors open, as it were, the only acceptable way to deal with this is to mention to the person next to you - as loudly as possible - that "That guy's fly is open." Thus, you have done a good deed in informing him of his unfortunate situation, while saving him the embarrassment of telling this to his face. Or ignoring it altogether, which was my vote. Consider me re-educated in this matter.
Lesson 4: Bra straps are MEANT to be seen and, the brighter and more contrasting the color, the bigger the points for fashion statement.
Lesson 5: It is never acceptable to pass gas or perform any variety of bodily function in public. In the privacy of your aunt's car, however, it is imperative to let loose as loudly and often as possible. The stinkier the fart, the bigger win. Bonus points if you manage a silent-but-deadly emission and successfully assign blame to your innocent (and lacking in verbal skills to defend himself) cousin until after the stench has dissipated.
Lesson 6: The final, and most important, lesson. Shoes are evil and should only be worn to school or church, or under threat of the aunt who swears that if you cut your foot on a broken beer bottle in front of the common area she is not going to be the one to drive you to the emergency room, and you can jolly well walk there on your injured foot and maybe you'll learn your lesson. Politely acquiesce to your aunt's wishes, and slouch away under protest in a pair of flip-flops. Take them off as soon as you round the corner, and enjoy a barefoot walk in the sunshine. Your aunt? She will notice, but the sight of you wandering, young and lithe and carefree (and shoeless) will suddenly remind her what it was like to be fifteen (on the good days). Instead of giving you a hard time about it, she will wordlessly hand you a fistful of baby wipes to clean your blackened feet and suggest it's time to pop some popcorn and watch a chick flick on cable. And maybe paint each other's toenails while we talk about those cute lifeguards.
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