Attack of the Catholic Schoolgirls

Last night I went to the mall to return a Christmas present that hadn't worked out (I finally found the stinkin' receipt). While I was there, I moseyed around and did a little shopping, mostly people watching, enjoying my cup of hot cocoa.

I had seen a young girl wearing a Catholic schoolgirl uniform, with a taller young man with hair like Sideshow Bob wrapped around her, early in my mall expedition. As I walked, about five more girls in the cute little plaid skirts and white blouse of Catholic Schoolgirlness walked, shoulder-to-shoulder, oblivious to anyone that didn't register on their radar of coolness (whatever that is nowadays).

They were loud, boisterous. They barreled into a couple of women who were trying to angle their way from one side of the mall-hall to the other so that they could enter a shoe store. These three women were all in a uniform of sorts, too--all of them were dressed in the "hello, I'm a butch lesbian" outfit that some women like to adopt-- mannish dark colored pants, loose fitting, with a chain wallet holder dangling from pocket. Comfortable black or brown shoes. Button down white oxford shirts. Very short spiked & gelled hair and multiple piercings running up the lobes of their ears. A gold chain spilling from the open collar of the oxford shirt, under which you could see a "wife beater" t-shirt. As the Catholic schoolgirls shouldered into the butch group, I saw some scowls on the part of the older women. The Catholic Schoolgirls were not phased, didn't even notice. I wondered if there would be comments made-- there were none. But it made me think of the different versions of femininity that were represented there-- rude schoolgirl chic; radical-affirmation-of-sexual-preference chic; me, all knocked up (and not really going for chic). The older lady with slightly permed white hair, one of those extra large shopping bags, her Hush Puppies making no noise as she walked just about next to me. I really wanted to comment on the girls to someone, make a snide joke. But people tend to think it's weird when you talk to yourself, so I saved my thoughts for a blog and went to gaze longingly in the Godiva chocolates window (no, I did not succumb. I was a good girl!).

Lately, every time I've seen Catholic schoolgirls in a shopping area, they've been behaving in a way that would most likely get their knuckles smacked were there a nun in the local area. I had seen several of them running around a Borders not long ago, giggling and definitely not looking at books, with the same sort of boys in tow who I saw wrapped around the girl at the mall. Boys who would stand under a window and sing up "come out Virginia, don't let me wait".

I don't think I'd seen a Catholic schoolgirl in years-- why are they suddenly following me now? Is this some sort of message from the Virgin de Guadalupe, to whom I actually think I owe my rapid (and apparently abundant) fertility after having stored my baking vanilla in a Virgin holy water bottle. (It's waaaay cool. Clear glass with a plastic "crown" stopper.) Is there perhaps some mission for me to fulfill? Undeserving King to topple with my army of peasants? Cathedral to commission?

Probably not. It's most likely that those CSG are stalking me for some other reason. I do, after all, know all the words to "Only the Good Die Young". And boy, could I tell them some stories about the sort of boy who sings under windowsills. (They won't listen, however.)