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Yes, It Was a 16th Birthday Party, But “Sweet” Isn’t How You’d Describe It

This is a submission in our monthly contest. January’s theme is “Wild.” Enter your own here!

Wild at heart, wild animals, Wild Thang, walk on the wild side … holy moly COW, you ain’t seen “wild” until you host your 16-year-old’s surprise party.

I was approached by one of my son’s female friends with the request to throw a surprise birthday party for him. She (let’s call her “Stacy”) was a nice, quiet neighbor of ours, one of his homework buddies, and I was touched by her thoughtfulness. “Of course,” I said. “Yes, by all means: what can I do to help?” And she assured me that she and another young lady would handle all the details. I was simply to keep it secret.

The afternoon arrived, as did the two sweeties, to decorate the house. This was to be a rather large affair and my husband and I were going to grill hot dogs and hamburgers for the crowd. Stacy mentioned that her Uncle knew a girl who danced and thought it would be great fun to have her drop by. How cute, I thought, imagining someone dressed for the ballroom, teaching my son how to salsa. Or perhaps she would lead everyone in the Funky Chicken, like on a cruise ship. Whatever. Fun, fun, fun.

The crowd arrived and soon, so did my son. “SURPRISE!!” The desired effect was achieved, everyone blew those paper blowers and I bustled around in the kitchen, making munchies.

There was a knock on the door. There stood a scantily dressed female, and behind her was a short, heavy-set gentleman in a suit and tie, and behind him was Frankenstein, some sort of huge bodybuilder type. Stacy came running up, hugged the Suit and introduced him as her uncle. Frankenstein was the strong, silent type and just grunted. They followed me into the kitchen where, me, Ms. Naïve Suburbanite, attempted to make small talk and discovered that the very sexy girl was “in law school.” The other two seemed extremely ill at ease, even when I offered them a plate of my famous snickerdoodles.

Stacy soon fetched the budding lawyer to come with her into the living room and I attempted to follow. Stacy suggested that it would be better if I remained in the kitchen. Frank(enstein) followed behind them. I looked quizzically at her uncle, shrugged my shoulders, and busied myself at the sink. I heard a roar from the crowd and whistling and hooting and I froze. What in the name of all that is Good was going on?! My mouth fell open as I realized what kind of dancer I had invited into my home. And who was entertaining my now officially 16-year-old and his friends at that very moment! The Uncle looked at his watch, said “Time to go,” and fetched his entourage to leave. I thanked them for coming, wished her well in law school, and wondered why I was so fixated on being polite to these undesirable people! Some habits are just too ingrained to control. I’m a Mid-Westerner.

It wasn’t until years later that I came upon a photograph of the dancer and my son and blushed! Don’t worry: she was fully clothed after all – no one wanted to have gotten arrested that day, but I felt so hoodwinked by that sweet, “innocent” little neighbor of mine. It was truly a wild party for the ages, and my son assured me that my reputation as “Coolest Mom” was cemented that day. Whoop, whoop.

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