Let's Talk About Puberty

I was disturbed the other day. The puberty kind of disturbed. I heard a woman announce on national television that she was "pms-ing." How revolting.

Just the next day, a quick jaunt to the beach put me in contact with a bunch of moody tweenage girls. One of which was whining about something while the others pat her shoulders and shot glances of unbridled amusement between each other. "It's just your hormones." I heard one say.
"It's not your fault."

Oh. Yes it is.

First of all, I don't want to hear about anyone's physical atrocities. Whether or not I can relate, you will give me a most unsatisfactory mental image and I will NEVER look at you the same way again. I will also judge you for having hormones. I ignored mine and I expect you to do the same.

Back in my days of youth, I remember being embarrassed by adults talking about my hormones. They were after all, mine, and therefore none of your business. But what made it most upsetting for me was that mine weren't actually causing me any trouble at all. I found it embarrassing that adults assumed my hormones were running wild. They weren't wild. Quite sedate actually. I was a skinny, weird looking, tan girl that didn't speak to anyone. No problem there.

To be honest, I have no recollection of going through puberty at all. I just woke up and it was done. I fell asleep looking like Urkel and woke up the newest member of the Kardashian family. Just like that. Overnight. Fell forward when I got out of bed that morning.
The only tough part was trying to figure out why I was suddenly, after 8 years of school with the same uninterested kids, a sought after "conversation."

"You think I'm interesting?" I sincerely wondered when a senior asked me to the movies. Turns out it wasn't my necklace that he found so captivating. I was shocked when I finally put it all together. I wasn't thinking about bodies or sex. "What's wrong with these kids?" I wondered. I was more worried about getting through the day without being seen. Were there other priorities?

Perhaps I just don't understand hormones. What is it they do anyway? Make you sleepy? I remember being sleepy. And hungry. Maybe the beach tween just needs a sandwich.
Can I fix you with a sandwich? How about a kick in the fanny? Would you like that?

I'm not going anywhere with this. I'm just bothered. Keep your feelings and sticky tears to yourself. And don't talk about them on TV.
Oprah.

So please children, for everyone's sake and the sake of pubescent bystanders, fester in silence.