G1 is doing her Deb!!
She has surprised a few people by signing up for this event, but it’s really no surprise for the ladies in her life.
After some gentle coaxing from said ladies, and discussions with her mates, 90% of which are also doing it, she has signed the dotted line and committed to 10 weeks of dance practice. And the experience of a lifetime.
She’s already decided on a dress style and we’ve come up with a cool plan for her shoes! (They wont be normal, and that’s no surprise. I wore white lace up boots with 2 pairs of footy socks as they were a bit too big.) And she’s looking forward to making her Grandma, quite possibly the proudest lady on earth.
Mum will be working on a Hospital Ship in Papua New Guinea at the time of the Deb, no doubt spending any spare moments gushing about her first debutante grandchild. She does that.
Eldest sister, Middle sister and I all made our debutante in high school, so this is a pretty big deal.
Squee!! To see our beautiful G1 acting like a lady!
Even if only for the evening.
Now there are some who say the practice of a Deb Ball is outdated and old-fashioned, and yeah, I can see that.
I mean, the original purpose of a Debutante Ball was to present the 15-18 year old lass to society, thereby notifying all eligible males, of her class standard of course, that she was available for purchase.
Well marriage, not purchase, but come on. 1920’s wife? All that sock darning and ribbon wearing. Silence is golden, how was your day, let me rub your feet.
Well actually, I do all that.
Anywho, myself and the 19 other mothers of this years Debs are clearly not auctioning off our daughters to the highest bidder.
Just as that wasn’t what it was about when my sisters and I did our Deb, many moons ago.
It’s about learning to dance. Which comes in very handy for things like weddings, graduations and cruises. Or for showing your kids how you still remember the Gypsy Tap, in the kitchen. Well, Dan remembered more than I did.
Learning to sit, act and eat with etiquette. Lessons that should be taught to everyone! We learnt the hard way, with a heavy silver knife wrap to the knuckles, that it is TERRIBLY bad mannered to chew with your mouth open, put your elbows or the table or lick your knife.*
It’s about having a fantastic, grown up night out with your mates. Not to mention the 10 weeks of dance lessons. You get to play fairy-tale for the night, doted on and adored. All whilst sitting together, laughing together and taking countless selfies. Come on, now that’s a great night out!
And maybe the most important. It’s participating in what could possibly be the only formal occasion in your life.
You may never marry. You may never graduate. Someone could die.
Yeah well, maybe that last is an extreme case. But I know that my Deb was a bittersweet for my Mum, given that I wasn’t able to have the traditional father Daughter dance.
I instead stood on the toes of my stand-in father, and the toes of my partner, and pretty much everyone I danced with. And I ate my soup and bread roll properly, laughed with my mates, had way too many photographs taken, and had a fantastic night.
Not to mention the kick arse Deb Party. Music. Campfire. 44’s filled with ice and booze. Pretty hair and make up paired with denim jeans and flannel shirt. I even managed to “get on”, or “make out” as the young ones call it today, with a spunky young Dan that night.
Yeah, don’t think G1 will be having that Deb experience. Over my dead body actually.
Different times man, different times.
*Seriously, I think our cutlery growing up was silver plated lead. The handle of those knives could pack a punch. And if you thought you were clever and covered your knuckles, it was the ankle bone that copped the punishment. Our girls are taught etiquette the modern way. Yelling. Our cutlery is like titanium.