I Must Have Flunked Prom

In my opinion, certain aspects of adolescence need to remain in the realm of adolescents for their enjoyment alone. Acne, getting grounded, and minimum wage jobs all spring readily to mind. In a close second come certain time-honored traditions such as listening to Radio Disney, jumping off the roof of your home onto your trampoline, rear-ending your best friend’s family car with your family car less than a week of receiving your driver’s license, and/or long-boarding down steep hills at 35 miles per hour with no greater personal protection than your own sense of immortality. [As a side note: Please do not ask me how I know that his speed was 35 miles per hour--lying makes me somewhat uncomfortable.] Let teenagers be the ones who get to stay up all night finishing research papers, eat Chocolate Lucky Charms or Cookie Dough Pop Tarts for breakfast, and go to Dances. I did my time. I’m done.

The specter of ever having to relive the traditions or customs of youth looms larger than an 80s hairdo, so a recent conversation with my sister-in-law about her son’s upcoming wedding stirred up profound feelings of dismay, if not panic: 
Me: “We are looking forward to it!”
Charlotte: “Get your dancing shoes--DJ is booked!”
Me: “Only if they play the Chicken Dance.”
(It was the only thing that felt safe, other than perhaps the Hokey Pokey...or Ring Around the Rosie, which may not technically qualify as an actual dance, but at least I am fairly confident of the steps involved.)

Dancing in public? Oh man. I thought once a person was safely married they were no longer required to dance in public. Don’t misunderstand. When I was younger I believed, like every other narcissistic and delusional adolescent, that I was an awesome dancer. Not that I had any dreams of dancing on American Bandstand or Solid Gold, but that’s mostly because they were truly, truly stupid shows. In the past 25 + years, the closest I have come to actual dancing in public has been when I bob my head in time with whatever is playing between segments on NPR while I’m driving around town.  I guess I have Just Dance-d in my house with my kids, but  because I routinely lose on everything from “Lollipop” to “I Don’t Feel Like Dancing”, this does not do much for my morale and hence does not encourage the idea of cavorting around the dance floor. 

Fortunately, we are entering what is known in certain circles as “social-dancing season”, and the newspaper recently ran a very helpful article on this delicate subject. The author, Elizabeth Holmes, informs us that there are actual people living among us, who “seem right at home on the dance floor, whether because they are self-confident, uninhibited, or musical.” Self-confidence? Got it: I have been known to scamper down the driveway in my PJs when trying to catch the garbage truck. Uninhibited? Check: I often sing Sesame Street songs while scrubbing down my shower. Musical? Ha! My oldest son plays bass. Yet the idea of dancing in public still fills my heart with fear and trepidation. I think Ms. Holmes hits the nail on the head when she says that “the threat of public embarrassment looms large.” I’d rather be forced to sit through an entire episode of Solid Gold, eating Pop Tarts, than have to prance around in front of other people.

I say we leave dancing to teenagers. Heck, if they can survive things such as various and sundry forms of social rejection, grandmother kisses, and the random and untimely appearance of mega zits, surely they can shoulder the burden of public dancing for the rest of society. After making us endure endless hours of Aaron Carter, Miley Cyrus, and “High School Musical”, they owe us.