My Misspent Youth

I was a good girl. An insanely good girl.

I never tasted beer. I never wore a bikini. I even liked my parents. Where did I go wrong?

My wild weekend nights were spent at the stake dances rocking out to “YMCA” and dancing with boys with sweaty hands, pepperoni faces, and whose breath smelled like peanut butter.

My friends and I stole a shopping cart once—the frosting on the cake of a most excellent toilet papering job (we returned the shopping carts a few days later).

I think I got a “C” on my report card junior year…maybe.

I kissed a lot of boys, many of which knew the true meaning of a “misspent youth.”

And then there were the “freeze-outs.” I would write in more detail about the freeze-outs, but I don’t want to give my lurking father a headache.

But that was about the extent of my bad behavior as a teenager. I was a good girl. An INSANELY good girl.

But maybe I should have taken advantage of my youth and screwed up a little… seized the day a little. I should have gotten that nose ring I always wanted. I only had that bikini-worthy body once. And maybe I should have stayed out till 12:30, a whole half an hour passed my curfew, just to show my parents who was boss.

I have no excuse for bad behavior anymore. I am endowed. The judgement lobe in my brain is completely developed. I am a mother. I am a republican.

And quite frankly, I had an amazing time as a teenager... even as a straight arrow. I don’t regret most things about my youth, especially not those stake dances. Where do you think all of the boys I kissed came from?