Teen Beat

Do you remember how cool it was to purchase the new Teen Beat or Bop magazine as soon as it hit the shelf in the grocery store? I remember. In my pre-teen, hormone-ridden body, that was in fact the only logical reason for a trip to any store. Obviously, we were headed there to pick up the newest full fold-out poster of Menudo…not because we had run out of bread or milk or any of those inconsequential things.

I would systematically cut each magazine into displayable visions of teen heartthrobs that would hang all around my room, on my ceiling, on my bedroom door. Everywhere. These things were important to me. At 12, they were practically the essence of my being. That is huge.

So, imagine if you will the reaction a pre-teen girl would have if she were to get home from school one day, hop off the bus in a perfectly rosy world humming the latest Lady Gaga hit, head into her room to begin her afternoon of texting all her friends (the ones that she just saw a few minutes ago in school)…only to step into the pit of hell.

Well, not really the pit of hell, but remember we are dealing with the raging hormones of a 12-year-old girl, so her life was simply and irrevocably destroyed in the split second it took her to cross the threshold of her room. It took her only seconds to realize that something was not right.

And by something not being right, I mean that all of her precious posters had be defaced and defiled. Her life was ending right before her eyes. Instead of the rock-hard, spray tanned abs of a teenage werewolf, she found herself face-to-face with crudely drawn replicas of the male appendage. A lot of them. Drawn with great attention to detail.

As if that weren’t enough, there were also words to accompany the drawings, in the strange instance that viewers might not immediately recognize the sketched likenesses.

So, when she called her dad sobbing, intermittently gasping for breath and wailing, I’m sure he was startled and must have thought she had been lured into some den of iniquity by a stranger wielding candy and promising soft, fuzzy puppies if she would just get into his car. Or maybe he thought she had inadvertently chopped off her leg or gotten her arm stuck in the garbage disposal. Any number of things—all life-threatening—must have entered his mind.

But let me remind you: almost-teenage girl, hormones. You get it. After he was able to calm her down and ascertain the root cause of her current hysterics, he was given the information that, in a moment of teenage brain paralysis, our son had thought his artwork would be a welcome addition to her décor. Not so much.

She was told he would be in trouble, but there was really nothing we could do from work. However, Jason asked her to leave the posters in place, so as to assess the crime scene in its original form. He also assured her that her brother would pay for new posters so that she could redecorate with posters that lacked the emphasis on the male anatomy. She wasn’t entirely pleased with this arrangement and was wholeheartedly pushing for the death penalty. We are showing some leniency this time, and although he is still in trouble, we have opted merely for a life sentence of him having to hear his sister whine about her lost werewolf and vampire posters. Oh yeah, and he’s grounded and has to buy new posters.

Micaela would like to see a harsher punishment, based on the fact that he ‘RUINED MY LIFE!!’

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