Say Goodbye to Yesterday
Last night I chaperoned a semi-formal dance as per one of my job requirements. I had been told that I would be given a flashlight so’s I could “break up any untraditional dancing” that might be going on. Let’s hover around this little piece of information for a spell, OK?
One, the first thing I pictured when I heard “flashlight” was a light-saber, because you can’t physically break two people apart with just a flashlight. It’s just light, and nothing concrete that can create space. We didn’t get light sabers – we didn’t even get traditional flashlights. We were just told to go around and say, “Hey, leave some room for the Holy Ghost” or something along those lines.
Two, I cringed when I was told to interrupt dance floor mock-coitus. I mean, who am I to say, “You can’t rub up on her!” Back during my practically virginal high school days, I savored any chance to rub up on a girl, and usually this opportunity arose (ahem) during the school dances. It was dark in that gym, and anything was possible! Give me some rump-shakin’ music DJ! Hell, I’ll even take Boyz II Men if ya got it!
Three, I immediately dreaded the moment I would have to get near the floor, because I knew the pressure to dance would surface. One of the female teachers veered too close to a group of boys who obviously choreographed a little number, and she got swarmed like a honey pot near a beehive. She came running out of that pile like a GI racing for the Green Zone in Baghdad.
Times have changed, as best exemplified by the new moves out there on the floor. The days of simple grindin’ are over. I saw some introduce chairs, napkins, hats and a military jacket (don’t ask) into their routines. And you know what? I was impressed. I say let them have their shake and beat it, too.
One, the first thing I pictured when I heard “flashlight” was a light-saber, because you can’t physically break two people apart with just a flashlight. It’s just light, and nothing concrete that can create space. We didn’t get light sabers – we didn’t even get traditional flashlights. We were just told to go around and say, “Hey, leave some room for the Holy Ghost” or something along those lines.
Two, I cringed when I was told to interrupt dance floor mock-coitus. I mean, who am I to say, “You can’t rub up on her!” Back during my practically virginal high school days, I savored any chance to rub up on a girl, and usually this opportunity arose (ahem) during the school dances. It was dark in that gym, and anything was possible! Give me some rump-shakin’ music DJ! Hell, I’ll even take Boyz II Men if ya got it!
Three, I immediately dreaded the moment I would have to get near the floor, because I knew the pressure to dance would surface. One of the female teachers veered too close to a group of boys who obviously choreographed a little number, and she got swarmed like a honey pot near a beehive. She came running out of that pile like a GI racing for the Green Zone in Baghdad.
Times have changed, as best exemplified by the new moves out there on the floor. The days of simple grindin’ are over. I saw some introduce chairs, napkins, hats and a military jacket (don’t ask) into their routines. And you know what? I was impressed. I say let them have their shake and beat it, too.
posted by Smidge at 5:55 PM
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