If I were Mary-Margaret's mother, I would brightly smile and say, "Oh, okay, sorry for the confusion, see you at 5 p.m." and whisk my daughter away in my car for a quick lecture about the reliability of boys. He also probably said his math homework was handed in. "Mom," she says, looking down at her mom, "I'm sure he said to be here by 1." "Nice to meet you, Mary-Margaret," I smile. "Um, I'm like Mary-Margaret? Benji like invited me to the uh, barbecue?" Both are looking at me as if I should know who they are. Standing on my front stoop is a freshly blow-dried 12-year-old in high-waisted stonewashed shorts and a floral tank top. I brush the onion tears from my face, wipe my hands on my pink flannel pyjamas and open the door. and I am slicing red onions very much ahead of schedule. It's a sunny Saturday in June and we are hosting our first barbecue of the season. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide. Facts & Arguments is a daily personal piece submitted by readers.
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