Maybe you already know that a wing-man makes everything possible. He maneuvers at a bar or club in any capacity required for his buddy to discover, talk to and potentially go home with the woman of his choice.
But did you know that when you have a just-turned-teen son who discovers girls at a pool party, that “wing man” duty falls to you? “Wing-Mom” is a secret society that initiates unsuspecting moms into chaperoning first dates minus the bar and the going home together later and hopefully any kiss whatsoever.
If you have never crossed this path then either your son isn’t interested in girls (yet), or he already drives. Either way, lucky, lucky you.
I dropped my 7th grade son off at a pool party. After an evening of bathing suits and bikinis, I pick him up and the backseat is silent with texting. A 7th grade girl. To be his first girlfriend.
I interrupt, “When you ask girls out, I think it should be over the phone, not just text.” I resist the instinct to grab the phone and yell, Nooooooooooooooo!!!
“Her family is deaf and they only have a texting plan. She has her hearing, but since everyone else can only use text, they don’t have an audio plan,” he answers while he texts.
“So, you asked her out just to be your girlfriend, not to go anywhere, right?” This is for me. I admit- I don’t want to go on a date. But I smell date. Why do I smell date? Wing Moms smell dates.
“I did both. We’re going to the playground and I can show her how to do gymnastic tricks there.” Nooooooooooo!!!
FYI, the week between “I need a ride for my date” and the actual date, the earth’s speed slows down and goes retrograde. The effect is the obsession on the following thoughts:
Do I take a photo of her so he can remember her later? No, that’s silly, he’ll break up with her one day.
What if he marries her?
What if I’m taking out my future daughter in law?
What do I wear?
What if she doesn’t like me?
What if I suck as wing mom and he never dates again and hates me? How much would therapy be when he’s 25?
A week away, and because the earth is in retrograde, I ask, “Got a plan?”
I want to say, You probably don’t have a plan, and really, neither do I, so we can just text her together and call it all off. Here now, give me her number and we’ll take all this pressure off you. Go find your legos. Want a brownie? I want a brownie.
But I don’t. I cannot hold back pool parties and hormones.
“The plan is the playground. She says she wants to learn some gymnastic stunts.”
The day arrives. Wing Mom reports for duty We pick her up then drive to the playground. On the way, Sarah explains how she loves Punnet squares, the scientific layout for genetics. In addition to guessing her children’s eye color and hair color, she already can factor that her babies will be deaf because of the genes skipping every generation.
We arrive and they trot away, not holding hands. They spend less than 20 minutes running, jumping and playing- and return, “It’s too hot to stay out here, and she has flip flops on.” His eyes have their first hint of faltering into “now what?”
Wing Mom surveys the situation, “Wow. I bet you guys are hot. How about a smoothie at the mall?” They smile, discussing where to get the best drinks. Because wing moms know where to find the best (non-alcoholic) drinks.
I stay upstairs in the food court, where I’m binging on brownies. I know he has $20 of his own money in his pocket. He was more ready for this date than most men are in college.
After an hour, they find me and are ready to take her home.
As we walk to the car, she tells me he took her to Starbucks and bought her a Frappucino. Niiiiiice job, son.
Upon arriving at her house, Wing Mom plans tactical positioning during the goodbye outside the car so no kiss can happen. I’m invited to walk them to the door and her parents meet us. No kiss? No kiss!
As we drive home, I ask about the next time they’ll see each other. “When school starts.”
“So, no more dates?”
“Well, after school starts then we’ll go out again.”
“Sounds like a plan. You were a great date.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’m glad you were there.”
Wing mom signing off.
(This was three years ago, so I have full permission to share my insanity here.)
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