Malls make Mongi age rapidly, much to her chagrin

By Melissa Mongi
Collegian Staff
September 20, 2006

Lately, I feel old. I don’t know where my youth went. No one warned me about my impending old age, so I want to help others before adulthood hits them like a sudden heart attack, or even worse, before old age hits them with a sudden heart attack.

This process starts off slow, much like an old woman putting her dentures in. The true sign of getting old is when everyone around you seems young and tall. Opening Weekend at La Salle, I noted my being shorter than 90 percent of the freshman. At 5’6”, I thought I was average height. After seeing the kiddies, I can only conclude I am shrinking, a clear sign of old age.

Call me Grandma Mongi, but I find myself saying, “When I was their age (fill in the blank).” Soon enough I’ll be getting my own hearing aid, wearing my pants too high and watching The Price is Right instead of going to class.

The one place where you really begin feeling elderly is any, and all, shopping malls. Malls, no matter their size or their variety of stores, will bring one face to face with the dreaded “tween” and ultimately, our own maturity.

“Tweens,” which has become a pop culture word for those stuck between childhood and adolescence, infest the malls of America. Think Hilary Duff on Lizzie McGuire, or an annoying 11-year-old sister. Certainly, tween could also be defined as awkward mall skulker.

These mall feeders invade on the weekends and are unavoidable within 50 feet of the parking lot. They are everywhere. Like cattle, they graze together in packs of large, laughing, obnoxious growths. Out of all the youngsters to avoid, these are by far the most lethal.

It’s not that they look younger than me, it’s the way they act. They flirt with the equally awkward tween boys, they attempt to use makeup and make mean comments toward fello eighth graders. I know they are young because I used to act this way, too.

I was the queen of too much lip gloss. It’s this admittance that makes me feel even older. I was once their age and at their maturity level, and now I’m half way to the grave – in their opinions – because I can legally vote.

Carefully, I make sure to pass by them. Their eyes will follow me, silencing their silly flirtations with one another, and making me feel like a principal walking by her young pupils. As soon as I’m out of earshot, they will resume talking about so-and-so from Mrs. Graeber’s class and why they idolize Lindsay Lohan.

To make matters worse, stores are devoted to these mall-moochers. Malls have tween stores which are bright pink and sparkly. Sadly, I am attracted to the youthfulness of these stores, the Justin Timberlake playing loudly and the T-shirts that read “100% Princess.” Staring longingly outside Limited Two, I snap back into age-reality when three pre-pubescent girls rushed out of the store giggling about their new training bras. Slump-shouldered, I walk to find a store with a little less pink.

Sure, there are a select number of stores that cater to the more mature but I tend to avoid Mimi Maternity, Boscovs and anywhere my mom has offered up as having “cool” clothing. I find they usually are anything but.

Maybe I am just jealous of these kids. They have nothing else to do but hang out in malls and wait for what is to come from the years I have already experienced. How am I done experiencing all that? I’m glad to be done with the days of getting picked up from the mall after hours of buying sparkly scrunchies. Now is the time for swanky bars and, sadly, job hunting. Or, can I always have a little bit of tween in me?

Sure, malls make me feel old, but when you think about it we’re all in between some age and some next step in our lives. I am, indeed, a tween myself. Fine, I admit it, I am getting older, but you’re never too old to be 100 percent princess, or at least own the T-shirt.

mongim1@lasalle.edu