When Iris uber Alles graduated from middle school, her little sister Lola and I had some trouble finding our assigned seats. As we wandered throughout the auditorium, reading the labels on the folding chairs and failing to find our name, we ran into one of Iris's teachers, one she greatly admires ("C. is so badass!"). I took this opportunity to share with this teacher how highly Iris spoke of her. In reply, the teacher, C., fixed me with a very stern eye and said intently, "Iris shouldn't be allowed to wear makeup! She's too hot!" There was an awkward pause.
Eventually Lola and I moved on and found our seats. "That was weird," I said. "I know," said Lola. "Was that some kind of criticism of my parenting?" I mulled.
Much later (after each and every student had given not one but two speeches, some other people had given speeches, and the students had had lots of pictures taken and consumed lots of h'ors d'oeuvres), I started to tell Iris about this chance encounter. Lola decided that she, not me, should tell it.
"So! C. was fascinated by tiny, amazing Lola," began Lola. "Mommy was telling C. about how Iris thought she was a badass, so C. sadly had to tear her attention away from tiny, amazing Lola."
At this point Lola was interrupted by her audience, who wished to know what exactly was so amazing about Lola. Lola eventually got back into the groove of her story: "So then C. said to Mommy, 'Iris shouldn't be allowed to wear makeup!' Then she turned her attention back to tiny, amazing Lola. And Mommy was all surprised by what C. said. And Mommy asked tiny, amazing Lola, 'What did she mean by that?'"
When was Iris' graduation?
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