I'm off at 8:00 p.m. to chaperon the 8th grade graduation dance. They recommended that we bring earplugs, fer heaven's sake. After we signed up, of course. I didn't think to ask when I volunteered how long the dance lasted. It only lasts until 11, but that is past my bedtime, if I can help it.
Note to self: Quit volunteering for stuff, already.
Self: C'mon, your friend asked you to do this, and we might win the drawing for front-row seats for next year's graduation. Which we want, right?
Me: Let the 8th grade parents do it.
Self: Ri-i-ight, the 8th graders really want to go to a dance chaperoned by their parents. As if.
Me: And you know I don't really like the company of some of these other parents.
Self: Yeah, but you get to be buddied with your friend around the corner.
Me: Who emailed me today to tell me she has a bad cold. But we can't wimp out or risk the wrath of the 7th grade organizing parent. And she is terrifying.
Self: C'mon, it could be fun.
Me: In your dreams. Whine. And I can't even knit. Whine. And I am NOT volunteering to stay and clean up afterwards.
Self: Fine. Whatever.
I just hope I don't see anything too scary. Vomit. Freak-dancing. Necking 8th graders. Ick.