Middle school. Holy hell. Those of you who grew up and returned to that God-forsaken place to teach, bless you. Seriously. Bless you and may your days be showered with the joy that comes from discovering a worth-while new release to watch on Netflix. I have yet to come up with an incentive that could take me back there. I almost want to cry when I think about middle-school-me. Oh the horror. The SHAME.
Rob and I were talking the other day about how people love to say, “live with no regrets,” or “I don’t regret anything because it made me who I am today (xoxo Gossip Girl).” Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Maybe I don’t regret rockin’ those fresh-to-death, white Sketchers, but I absolutely regret being mean…to everyone. And I know that not everyone was as mean as I was in middle school, but as a rule, I’m pretty sure middle school brings out the evil in everyone.
There is nothing that you can do to escape the ridicule and teasing of a middle schooler. They are underdeveloped, ill-intentioned, shoot-to-kill, emotional snipers. Wherever you’re weakest, KABLAM. It’s as if for three years, the human-experience demands that you abandon the innocence of Elementary school and fully embrace the suck that is, middle school.
Obviously many factors contribute but hormones have to be at the top of the list. Hormones are the gift that keeps on giving. In case you forgot:
- Hairless, skinny, boy legs
- Hairy, skinny, girl legs
- Weird, pointy, partially developed boobs
- Adult-sized feet
- Headgear (cruel, so, so, cruel)
- Not sure what to do with hair
- Girls taller than boys
- Blushing is worse (is it, or is there more to blush about? Someone google that…)
- Improper use/technique with deodorant
- Smelly feet
And then there’s the social struggle
- Wearing same clothes/shoes/headband
- Broken hearts (you just love so damn hard)
- Lunch tables (I could write a novel on “how to pick the best one”)
- Gym class/Gym uniforms
Everything is SO HARD.
Once I called my mom to go home because someone pointed out that I was wearing a plaid shirt with a striped skirt. How could she let me leave the house like that? I was DEVASTATED. And hello #patternmixing. I was a freaking trendsetter.
Another time I told a girl that she looked like a mom because she had a “middle part.” Now, I am unabashedly rockin the middle-part lob. Oh, I guess since I’m a mom this doesn’t lend well to my point. NOW, I have super hot, childless friends, rockin the middle-part lob.
I think I even “cheated” on my boyfriend (who someone else had asked out for me) by holding hands with another guy.
So this is what I think I’m going to tell my kids when middle-school is fast approaching:
It’s three years of your life. You just have to get through three years. Be the kid that reads a lot. Memorize some lines from Die Hard so you have some way to respond if someone wants to beat you up. Work on your math (it’s going to get tricky). Keep your head down. Being a smart kid is more important than being a cool kid so don’t act like an idiot. And lastly, wait to start pattern-mixing until you’re emotionally ready for the pushback. Oh, and don’t forget your parents were once in middle-school, too. Forgive us and we’ll forgive you for being a terrible, terrible person for the next 36 months.