So apparently, I am a complete and utter embarrassment to my twelve-soon-to-be-thirteen year old daughter. Not that this wasn’t to be expected, but I was completely confused as to the source of the embarrassment. I mean, it’s not as if I were old, doddered around in a sweatshirt decorated with cats in a basket (no offense to my cat-loving friends) and black orthopedic shoes, went on and on about life before the invention of the telephone, and waxed poetic about the days when everyone learned cursive… okay, wait, I’ve done that last one… okay, waxed poetic about the days when there wasn’t an internet… oh damn, done that too… okay, how about: waxed poetic about the days when we read by candle light. (Hah! Got one!)

And it’s not as if my daughter’s friends don’t know that we’re a family of flag-waving Geeks. Come on. We’re third generation Geek in our household. And my daughter is normally proud to be a Geek. She games, she loves SF, she digs zombies, she groks Star Trek, she wants a Tardis for her bedroom and sleeps with a plushie Creeper. I thought, perhaps foolishly, that our Geekness might even make us one of the “cool” parents.

So when my daughter and her gamer-geek friend Isabella were in the living room playing Minecraft one afternoon and having a discussion about Thor and other comic book/movie heroes, I made a comment – a sort of throwaway comment — as I was passing through with a basket of laundry about how in my humble opinion, I thought Wolverine was hotter than Thor. I had no idea I was stepping on the proverbial adolescent land mine.

First, I got the look. If you’re a parent, you know the one. The “Oh. My. God. Mom! I can’t believe you said that out loud! And in front of my friend!” look. The look that makes you want to shrink down to the size of a baby dust mite and disappear under the oriental rug. Then, she actually got up, excused herself, and took me into the front hall, where she gave me the look again, followed by a terse, sotto voce , “Mo-o-om! Spoken through her teeth in such a way that makes a one syllable word into a three syllable word. Then she rolled her eyes, stomped back into the living room, flung herself dramatically onto the couch next to Isabella, and apologized on my behalf.

Apologized!

Wait, what?  So maybe they think Thor is hotter… he’s younger, after all.  That’s okay.  Me, I prefer dark-haired men, and anyway, aren’t I entitled to my opinion? So I was left standing in the front hall, holding a basket of dirty towels, looking puzzled and ashamed and quite unaware what exactly I had done wrong.

After Isabella left, I was read the riot act. Apparently it is the height of uncoolness for a mother to think that anyone is hot. And especially anyone in a movie. I’m too old, I was told, to be a fan girl.

Too old?  Too old?! Um, NOT!

Listen toots, I’ve been a “fan girl” since age 6, and I fell in love with Davey Jones of the Monkees. And I’ve been finding yummy men to crush on ever since. But I guess I won’t be sharing any of those crushes with Girl Child #1 anymore… at least, not when she’s with her “crew”. Heaven forbid I embarrass her!

Embarrassed your teen lately? Share your stories here. I’d like to feel like I’m not alone. And any ideas on revenge would be appreciated too!

Illegitimi noncarborundum!