There were five 12-year-old girls at my house for a birthday sleepover yesterday evening. Anyone who still believes that young girls are delicate, precious flowers in need of shelter from the harsh world has yet to meet the burping, bellowing, joke-telling future scientists and cut-throat Minecrafters that inhabit the 21st century.
This morning, the internet misinformed me about the amount of time to cook bacon in the oven. While I was wondering how to wake up a roomful of girls who had stayed up somewhere far south of 2 AM, the smoke detector did it for me. They came boiling out of the rec room, inhaled pancakes and very crispy bacon, demanded (politely: good for them) milk and water and eggs cooked a variety of ways, then evaporated back to Sleepover Central, where the sounds of girls shouting directions to one another for portals can hardly be avoided. They're loud, and smart, and curious, and confident. (And, did I mention, loud?) My faith in the future is renewed, although I'll probably have to enjoy it wearing earplugs.
This morning, the internet misinformed me about the amount of time to cook bacon in the oven. While I was wondering how to wake up a roomful of girls who had stayed up somewhere far south of 2 AM, the smoke detector did it for me. They came boiling out of the rec room, inhaled pancakes and very crispy bacon, demanded (politely: good for them) milk and water and eggs cooked a variety of ways, then evaporated back to Sleepover Central, where the sounds of girls shouting directions to one another for portals can hardly be avoided. They're loud, and smart, and curious, and confident. (And, did I mention, loud?) My faith in the future is renewed, although I'll probably have to enjoy it wearing earplugs.
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