E was very upset after school a few days ago, crabby and snapping and even crying as the day wore on. When I finally got him to talk about it, he said that two of the girls in his class were picking on him, and that this had been going on for a while.
Ah, the joys of fourth-grade girls.
I am the first to admit that it's a good thing I have boys. No way would I have wanted to relive my extremely painful preadolescence, when I felt like the ugliest, fattest, greasiest misfit alive. Those years from nine to fourteen -- well, it makes me shudder just to think of it. Everyone says boys are easier. It must be true.
But E is such a sensitive little bird. I'm fairly sure what happened is that these girls were being their normal nine-year-old Nickelodeon-inspired selves: sassy, quick-tongued, slightly condescending. And my son, true to form, melted in the glare.
I tried to console him by explaining that a) fourth-grade girls can be bitchy and b) they are usually most bitchy to the boys they actually like. Not sure it worked.