Tonight's the night. I'm accompanying my 13-year-old cousin to a concert because, like, ohmygod, it's her faaaavorite band. Ever. EVER. !! !
And her parents wouldn't take her. So, here I am.
At first I was all, "Aw. Fun. Bonding! I can be hip." After all, it's Cobra Starship, and their spin on Gwen's "Hollaback Girl" blows her out of the water. And they have a show on MTV. And, dammit, I'm still only 25. I am cool.
And then she just called me. And she's meeting a friend there, at the concert. They're going to be in the pit, she says. Pit like mosh pit. MOSH PIT?
She's all, "So, are you going to be in the pit, or, like, in the bar?"
And I'm like, ohmygod I'm the creepy chaperone.
I have been elevated to creepy chaperone status. Chaperone! And that means I'm going to have to worry because, wait-a-minute, did someone just PUSH HER? Is that 19-year-old emo boy with eyeliner speaking to her? NO SHE WON'T MAKE OUT WITH YOU!
I used to be 13. And chaperoned. Ew. And I used to go to concerts with my friends and want to talk to 19-year-old emo boys with eyeliner.
I feel this experience will deter me further from ever wanting children of my own. All that responsibility over someone's life, etc. It's pressure. The fear of us getting mugged on the mean streets of Milwaukee has me losing all rational thought.
"13-year-old mugged as creepy chaperone whimpers on sidewalk," the headlines will read. You just wait.
I'm crossing my fingers that I'll gain brownie points as a hip, older relative figure because I'm making sure we get there extra early because SHE HAS TO BE IN THE FRONT ROW, OMG.
Perhaps I'll gain even more points if I provide her and her small emo friends with beer.