Over the weekend, the tattered remnants of my seventh grade yearbook surfaced, much to the amusement of Daughter-Only and Oldest Niece, daughter of Little Sister.
The girls were baffled by the clothing "styles" (or lack thereof) and the last names--there was a high concentration of German-sounding names like Shmeckenbecker and Fenstermacher, names that make you spit a little if you're saying them right. They were reading through different names and Oldest Niece said, "T. Fairchild.*"
I said, "Let me tell you a little something about 'T. Fairchild.' 'T. Fairchild' rode our bus and she sold your mother's phone number to some boys who wanted it."
Oldest Niece's eyes widened and her mouth even dropped open a little. Was Oldest Niece appalled by this betrayal of her mother's friendship? Was she horrified that anyone could stoop that low? Not exactly.
"Wow...How many boys paid for my mother's phone number?"
Alas, I was unable to remember the exact details of the financial transactions carried out by T. Fairchild. I vaguely remember something about 80 cents, but did T. Fairchild charge one boy 80 cents? Or did she charge two boys 40 cents? Hell, maybe she charged 8 boys 10 cents...
Little Sister, if you're reading this, please tell us, how many boys did pay for your phone number? The world--and your 15-year-old daughter--want to know.
*"T. Fairchild" is not an attempt to protect the identity of the phone-number-selling guilty party in this story. It is the way the names were actually listed in the yearbook and that's how we referred to her during the conversation on Saturday. T. Fairchild's first name is Teresa--I'd sell you her phone number, too, if I had it.
I Am Not a Wimp
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