I am telling this story of my pending maturity in this particular way because I am trying to cover up the fact that I have been binge watching Dawson’s Creek on Netflix. I’m also trying to cover up the fact that I have really been enjoying all of the excellent 90’s music Barenaked Ladies, Sixpence None the Richer, Jewel and all of the other fabulous throwback tunes that make up the soundtrack to Dawson’s Creek.
A few episodes ago, Joey, Dawson, Pacey, Jen, Abby, Andie, and some other Capeside High School hooligans had a really tough English test coming up. The teacher was sick and ended up canceling the study session. So all of these children who weren’t very fond of each other at the time got together to study. They pulled an all-nighter and ended up not studying very much at all. They pulled a 4-hour cram session early the next morning and when they got to school, their test had been canceled because the teacher was still sick.
Here’s my problem with that: I really want to know if they passed their test. What grade did they get?
Now, here’s my problem with my problem: How old am I? There was so much drama and confrontation in that episode and all I want to know is A, B, C, D, E, or F??? Are these my maternal instincts starting to kick in? No, no. I am not ready for that.
What’s more is that my maturing mom senses seem to be getting worse. Last night I let my dog and her newly repaired Doggy ACL sleep on my bed for the first time since she had her surgery. She slept without her cone on and I – who once slept through my sister’s seizure with the emergency vehicles and the sirens and the lights – woke up every time she moved just to make sure she wasn’t licking or chewing her stitches. Additionally, I seem to have developed eyes that can (A) see through the back of my head and (B) see through walls, because I am also able to tell when she sneaks off to another room to get a few good chews at her stitches.
And my parents have become more like grandparents as well. They feel sorry for her and take off her cone to let her run around. Then she really does end up pulling out some stitches and they laugh it off like grandparents sometimes do. They’ve let her romp in the back yard and walk up and down stairs even though she’s supposed to be taking it easy. Granted, the dog is a wild child and keeping her still is not very easy.
What is going on?? What happened to the days when I could sleep through anything?