What I Would Have Said to Liesl

(Alternate Title: Reflections After Watching The Sound of Music Live!)

(Second Alternate Title: Why I Don't Have Girls)

Oh, hey, Liesl! Yes, we're back! Yes, we had a great time, but I am exhausted. I can't wait to have the nearest frau draw me a nice hot bath and soak in that puppy for about three hou--what? You want to talk? Right now? Oh. Okay. Sure!

What do I think of Rolf? Huh. Well, why do you ask? You've been doing WHAT in the gazebo? Oh, for heaven's sake, Liesl. What are you thinking?

You are SIXTEEN! Sixteen years old. That is not even old enough to get a driver's license in most states, and don't give me any baloney about how that doesn't matter because he has his own transportation. Wait a year or two until you have triplets you're trying to fit into the basket of that bicycle along with the telegrams and you'll wish you had one of those nice big caretaker cars, even if that caretaker car doesn't have any interior wiring because some well-meaning nuns yanked it all out.

Darling, let's look at this for just a second. He is only seventeen. He still wears shorts during the winter, for heaven's sake, and do you want to hitch yourself to that fashion star for the rest of your life? You're a good-looking girl, Liesl--you could do so much better.

Has your father never told you anything about seventeen-year-old boys? Well, sweetheart, it's a good thing you have me here now. Seventeen-year-old boys are nothing but hands and hormones. I know he looked adorable in the moonlight in the gazebo....What? THERE'S NO GAZEBO? WHAT HAPPENED TO THE GAZEBO?

Anyway, seventeen-year-old boys, especially seventeen-going-on-eighteen boys, are roues and cads. No, I am not going to define those for you. Perhaps you should have been studying for your SATs while we were gone instead of burning down the gazebo? Let's just say that when he offers you food  and wine, you'd better make sure to have a food-taster. Someone who has joined the NAZIS definitely would not be above a little date-rape-drugging.

You are sixteen, Liesl. One of these days you may grow up to be a nun who is savvy enough to grab yourself a rich older navy captain with an enormous house and servants and children who have perfect pitch. When that day comes, grab that navy captain and tell him to put a ring on it.

But until then, dear, you're grounded.