It really might have been nice if you mothers of daughters older than mine could have warned me. Maybe then I might have been prepared. I might have put aside a little energy each energy payday so that my account would have been full. Maybe you could have coached me a little louder from the sidelines or offered me a game plan. But you didn't.
You left me to learn it all on my own and to fight my way through the training, with an occasional wrong turn.
Why didn't you tell me that when a daughter is old enough to go to high school dances, that there would be dress shopping, accessory shopping, hair appointments, nail appointments, boutonniere ordering, picture arrangements, dinner arrangements, and massive housecleaning when the picture arrangements mistakenly happen at MY house?
You might have hinted at the need for the little chats reminding our daughters of their worth and their futures and their values that will outlive this night and this date.
And it would have been okay if you had sent me an email telling me that by the time the doorbell rang, the dad's only job would be to shake the young man's hand while the mom would need two years of sleep to recover - but only after that precious daughter had been safely delivered back to her nicely-cleaned home after her unfairly early curfew.