There’s a tradition at the high school in our town that my husband and I don’t understand but enjoy nonetheless. Since I don’t understand it, please forgive me if I get some of the details wrong.
Before formals, boys (in the fall) and girls (in the spring) concoct elaborate plans to ask a date to the dance.
For example, earlier in the school year a banner hung the length of a house on Mitchell Farm Lane with bold block letters asking, “Will you?” We automatically assumed it was a teen inviting another to the dance and not a marriage proposal. We were right. (She said yes.) I’ve heard of asks involving marching band, a room full of classmates and lots and lots of flowers.
A friend contacted me to see if I could make some cookies for her daughter as part of a winter-themed idea that included brownies, cookies and a puzzle (I think, again, I’m shady on the details). I agreed immediately because I think her daughter is adorable.
I run a small baking business out of my house but kept it a secret that I was giving her the cookies until she came to pick them up.
My husband (once a teenage boy himself) appreciates the effort the girls are making but makes a fair point: They’re a girl, right? The way he explains it, any conversation between a girl and boy sounds something like this:
Girl: Hi? I was ….
On a side note, this explanation also brings into a focus for me a very clear picture of my husband as a teen.
Let’s be clear, my friend’s daughter is a gorgeous, talented teen who is sweet to her little brother and has a smile that can light up not a room but an entire auditorium (we know this because we watched her play the lead in the winter musical).
I doubt my cookies did anything to sway this boy’s decision. I’m betting he couldn’t say yes fast enough.