Love Songs...or something like that!
On my way home from the city last night, I tuned in the radio to the local 'love' song station. Every night, they play love songs. Well, they call them love songs but they were really songs like, "Killing me softly", "Where do broken hearts go?" and "I'm all out of love." Ya, that sounds about right...sounds about like my love life!
Anyhow...they played enough Air Supply to throw you back to the 80's and the Saturday Night Youth dances.
Awww, the Saturday Night Dance. Our church would sponsor a teen dance night every single Saturday. I think I went to almost every dance not because I enjoyed them but because I was wildly desperate to trick myself into thinking I had a social life.
There I stood, against the darkest wall of the gym, usually alone because the people I went with were more of the popular variety. You could tell when the night was winding down because they played more and more sappy love songs or heart break songs! The dance floor would fill up quickly. Some couples thought they were all that and showed off their exaggerated ballroom waltz moves, lapping the edge of the crowd. The rest of the bumbling, awkward, rebellious teens just hung on each other, sweat beading up on their brow from air that hung heavy with the angst of teenage romance (not like I would know anything about that mind you). This is when I started to get up the courage to ask a guy to dance. I had no choice! I knew when I got home my parents would ask me if I danced! I had to be able to tell them I did.
So, I hunted down another fellow wallflower, shuffled over and asked him if he wanted to dance. I was pretty confident that he would say yes. I was careful to choose someone equally as clumsy and gawky as myself to ensure I wouldn't be embarrassed with a pithy 'no' and cold shoulder. By now, I had already sleuthed out the guys who had been turned down by pretty girl after pretty girl the whole night. I could read the desperation on their faces.
"Wanna dance?" as Air Supply cried out in the background.
He would offer his sweaty hand and I would take it as he led me to the dance floor. There we stood, barely moving, swaying slightly, missing the beat of the song, his greasy hair and acne ridden cheeks lingering over my less than confident, shoulders. Looking back...it was so pathetic!
Looking at me now? Still pathetic...but at least I've had the decency to stop settling for the greasy, desperate type. After a small moment of reminiscing, another Whitney Houston song came on; I have nothing. Awww, it seemed fitting. I turned it up, belted out a few lines I remembered from my dramatic 16th year of life and drove home...the same little wallflower inside.
There you have it. A little throwback to the good ole' days.
Anyhow...they played enough Air Supply to throw you back to the 80's and the Saturday Night Youth dances.
Awww, the Saturday Night Dance. Our church would sponsor a teen dance night every single Saturday. I think I went to almost every dance not because I enjoyed them but because I was wildly desperate to trick myself into thinking I had a social life.
There I stood, against the darkest wall of the gym, usually alone because the people I went with were more of the popular variety. You could tell when the night was winding down because they played more and more sappy love songs or heart break songs! The dance floor would fill up quickly. Some couples thought they were all that and showed off their exaggerated ballroom waltz moves, lapping the edge of the crowd. The rest of the bumbling, awkward, rebellious teens just hung on each other, sweat beading up on their brow from air that hung heavy with the angst of teenage romance (not like I would know anything about that mind you). This is when I started to get up the courage to ask a guy to dance. I had no choice! I knew when I got home my parents would ask me if I danced! I had to be able to tell them I did.
So, I hunted down another fellow wallflower, shuffled over and asked him if he wanted to dance. I was pretty confident that he would say yes. I was careful to choose someone equally as clumsy and gawky as myself to ensure I wouldn't be embarrassed with a pithy 'no' and cold shoulder. By now, I had already sleuthed out the guys who had been turned down by pretty girl after pretty girl the whole night. I could read the desperation on their faces.
"Wanna dance?" as Air Supply cried out in the background.
He would offer his sweaty hand and I would take it as he led me to the dance floor. There we stood, barely moving, swaying slightly, missing the beat of the song, his greasy hair and acne ridden cheeks lingering over my less than confident, shoulders. Looking back...it was so pathetic!
Looking at me now? Still pathetic...but at least I've had the decency to stop settling for the greasy, desperate type. After a small moment of reminiscing, another Whitney Houston song came on; I have nothing. Awww, it seemed fitting. I turned it up, belted out a few lines I remembered from my dramatic 16th year of life and drove home...the same little wallflower inside.
There you have it. A little throwback to the good ole' days.
Thanks for taking me down memory lane Kathy. I do remember those youth dances. So glad to be past that phase of life.
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