Undermedicated and way too loud
Last night one of my high school kids, whose mother is a friend, showed up for class with her boyfriend in tow. Boyfriend looked like a squirrel might take him down in a fight, wore lots of emo black and had dangly bits pierced through whatever. He is named "Beau", of all things, and was perfectly adorable, from his little dyed black ends to his damp handshake.
So, when I see the Mom in question leaning on my office doorpost later, I say delightedly (at about 195 decibels), "He's about the most adorable little metrosexual I've ever seen!" He is, of course, standing around the corner.
However, I owned that one. I told him he truly was adorable and it had been a pleasure to meet him. (Look, if he doesn't want to be mistaken for a metrosexual, he shouldn't paint his pants on, wear nail polish and date EmoGirl. Just sayin'.)
As I tell my kids, I have to say to myself, "Just because it goes through the skull doesn't mean it has to come out the mouth." Unless, of course, you're me, at which point it's kind of a given. Face, meet Palm.
So, when I see the Mom in question leaning on my office doorpost later, I say delightedly (at about 195 decibels), "He's about the most adorable little metrosexual I've ever seen!" He is, of course, standing around the corner.
However, I owned that one. I told him he truly was adorable and it had been a pleasure to meet him. (Look, if he doesn't want to be mistaken for a metrosexual, he shouldn't paint his pants on, wear nail polish and date EmoGirl. Just sayin'.)
As I tell my kids, I have to say to myself, "Just because it goes through the skull doesn't mean it has to come out the mouth." Unless, of course, you're me, at which point it's kind of a given. Face, meet Palm.