I originally posted this story as part of a blog post from 2011, but it’s become one of my (now) teenage daughter’s favorite junior high-mom stories to laugh and cringe at. In honor of a really strange Halloween (#Pandemic) I decided to polish this one up a bit and share it again. Hopefully it makes you smile too. Stay safe out there!
In October 1992, I was 12 years old and a month away from becoming a real-life teenager. I was successfully maintaining a very on-brand, unreciprocated crush that I had had since the 6th grade.
I was in the midst of my ♥Mike-A Years♥, which came just before the more well-known, ♥Metro-Moments♥ and the ♥Aaron-S Era♥, which consumed the majority of my junior high and early high school crush-energy. Mike A. was blonde haired, dreamy-eyed, and always decked out in the latest fashion, which at the time meant, silk shirts and Z. Cavaricci dress pants. #AllOfThePleats
Mike A. was a popular kid with a dazzling smile; there was a whole lot of Saved By The Bell’s Zack Morris-energy about him. My life seemed to occasionally reflect 80s and 90s movies where the cool kids threw parties and SOMETIMES the awkward kids (me) got invited. 1992 was one of those weird years and Mike A. hosted a junior high Halloween party in his backyard. Being the popular kid that he was, he invited all the 7th and 8th graders to attend.
The 8th graders at my school were cool and hip. Well, as cool and hip as you can be at a tiny, private school. To a timid 7th grader, they far exceeded the normal 8th grade coolness barriers. They were sassy, rude and usually poor-students, since many of them were in the same math class as I was, which isn’t saying very much. The 8th graders in my awkward-orbit were usually friends with my super-cool, very un-awkward BFF of the time, Jaime, and so I knew many of them by default. Jaime was in their league of coolness and actually had plans to date a few of the boys. I was terrified of them and was forever trying to erase the knowledge that one of the 8th grade girls in my math class was regaling us with tales of how she had gotten some mean rug burns on her knees from doing ‘You-Know-What’ with a B-O-Y! #Scandalous
At this CoolKids™ party, I made plans to make my appearance looking as amazing as possible with the hope of finally getting my crush to notice me. Unfortunately, I was 12, so even if I came wearing a deluxe, Vegas Showgirl ensemble, I would still look like the skinny, knob-kneed, brace-face with flat, mousey brown hair that I actually was.
My mom and I were shopping for a costume the day of the party, which stands out as something really off, when I think about it. We Zs are a family who plans for things. Years in advance, even! Shopping the day-of for anything just doesn’t make sense to me, but for some reason, we did. Anyway, while we were at Mervyn’s that Saturday, I came up with the brilliant idea of dressing up as a cat. I know what you’re thinking, “Hmmm…a cat could be pretty sassy! Me-WOW!” but again, I was 12 and pointy and clueless at how to dress in an ‘appealing-to-junior-high-boys’ style.
Allow me to paint the scene for you:
It was a cold and rainy Halloween night in the high-desert.
I stepped out of my mom’s minivan and into the party to see all the above-average and voluptuous 8th grade girls wearing matching, non-private school dress code, French maid costumes. The 8th grade boys (plus Mike A., who was in 7th grade, like me, but much cooler) were all wearing matching “Phantom of the Opera” costumes, which meant, a nice, black suit or tuxedo, a black cape, and the little white half mask. Who owns a tuxedo when they are in 7th and 8th grade? Apparently cool 90s boys do, that’s who. Also, obviously, these costumes were coordinated ahead of time, which accurately reflects my inclusion in that “cool-kids” universe. I had zero clue there was a costume theme!
The boys looked so dashing! The girls looked so smokin’ hot. I had left my house feeling pretty good about my feline-costume choice, but as soon as I got to the party, I wanted to dissolve into the floor. I felt like a major dork! And I really was.
The cat costume that I ended up wearing was more of a baby-ish kitten than a sassy feline. I had chosen white tights and tragically, paired them with a light-pink leotard that was woefully inadequate at hiding my tiny training bra. I had struggled to find the right pair of cotton briefs that didn’t peek out from around the light-pink leotard’s leg holes. I finished the look off with little, white canvas shoes that had little pink lines on them, which was in direct contrast to the French maid’s black heels. I don’t remember any more details about my embarrassing costume. Did I have ears? A painted-on nose or a pinned-on tail? Probably. But I remember that the evening’s weather provided me with an excellent opportunity to keep my long, quilted mauve winter coat on during the whole party. Thank you, Jesus.
The Halloween party was outside in a giant gazebo that could hold at least 50 people, plus a real-live DJ that had been hired to play a ton of dance music, even though ZERO people were dancing. No, reader, what the cool-kids were doing was playing Spin the Bottle on a makeshift table. Not dancing to TLC or Boys II Men. I hadn’t been asked to play, and since I hadn’t kissed a boy yet, I wasn’t too sad about the non-invitation. Kissing boys, although it sounded appealing (and I had received enough details about “How-to” from Jaime) was still a scary thought, especially if I had to pull one off in front of an audience!
After that rousing party game the next activity was announced, and they said everyone had to play. It was called “Hide and Go Get” and probably was thought up by a horny, little 8th grade boy, or some older college frat brother. It involved breaking everyone up into boys versus girls, then one gender would be required to go hide, then the other would go out and seek. If the seeker found someone, they got to make the hider do whatever they wanted, and I’m not talking about telling the hider to walk around and squawk like a chicken. Since junior high boys were doing the “getting” it was usually a thing like, “Woo hoo! I found you! Now you have to make out with me in this dark corner of the un-landscaped backyard!” Or “Hey! I found you! Now I get to touch your [insert body part here]”
I know…WTF?! Where were these parents? Who was supervising this hormone-induced madness?
Well, being the rule follower I was (who was I to question an event-mob’s game selection?) I sucked up my kitty-courage and went and hid in the backyard with all the other girls. I think I crouched down behind a hot tub or something. I was easily found by a red-headed 8th grade boy with the unfortunate last name of Hooker. I stood up and was disappointed that it wasn’t my crush that had discovered me, but an intimidating, freckled 8th grader instead. As I approached him, ready to hear what my physical punishment for being found was, he turned his back to me and yelled to his buddies that he hadn’t found anyone. YES! (Relief!) Then, WAIT. (Shame.)
He hadn’t found anyone?
Maybe he was looking for a certain someone and didn’t want to get stuck with me instead. Maybe the eye contact we made where my eyes were extra-large and terrified gave off a “Please don’t touch me, I’m little!” vibe. Either way, he was not interested in dealing with my kitty-cat, seventh grade hotness. A merciful win, when I look back at things now.
When I share this story with my 13-year-old daughter (who is currently an 8th grader) she laughs at my silly costume details. She gasps in shock at the mere idea of a game where boys would look for girls and order them to do their physical bidding. When she hears about how a boy pretended not to see me she always reaches out to hug me and says, “Ohhh, mom! That’s so bad!”
Maybe later I’ll tell her about the time in 10th grade when Becky and I decided we were ready to try our luck with the French Maid costumes too. What could be cooler than clomping around the neighborhood in heels with a candy bag? Or maybe when we kicked off our painful shoes and attempted to climb a six-foot cinder block wall to get around a security gate at a school-friends’ house for the chance at MAYBE scoring a full size candy bar? Maybe I’ll tell her that one this year.
Happy Halloween, everyone!