I’m Still Mad at the 13-Year-Old Who Broke My Son’s Heart

You’re going to do that to my son at the eighth-grade dance? Seriously?

When Lola, a veritable 13-year-old fille fatale (think: highlighted, long hair; large, black faux reading glasses; cropped T-shirt; short shorts, etc.) chose my son for their eighth-grade banquet/dance, my husband and I were painfully aware of how this love story would end: the outcome dangled in the balance, like a caterpillar tent, waiting to unleash its twitchy cache on the bare neck of my son’s unsuspecting soul.

Read on @ Fatherly.com