An Accidental Compliment Followed By Confusion

Last weekend, Gary and I went to a formal dinner/dance fundraiser thingy to support a girl in our ward who's on the ballroom team. (Yeah, they have ballroom teams here! In high school!. . . I'm totally jealous.) I was actually pretty excited. I got an old prom dress out of moth balls (which I don't have, it just means it hasn't been worn in years and ages and years), tried her on, and was filled with glee up to my mothballs that she still fit, ironed her up, and put her on. (Thanks, Mom, for making her good and sturdy. . . and just the right amount of stretchy!)

I was so excited to go on a date that required that I take a shower! Woo Hoo! I even called my sister, a few days in advance, to see how I should do my hair. "Jess," she says to me, she says, "Jess, all you need to do is put a flower in your hair." And I was all, "Brilliant!" like Harry Potter.

I ran to The Wal-Marts and found me a cute little white "bloomed rose" hair pin and threw that in my hair, which was nicely done in big, loose curls- also a tip from my sister. I even put on eyeliner, which I have totally ceased making a part of my morning routine as of late, so I felt way fancy. I even bought new, super nice jewelry, also from Wal-Mart. Grand total, including hair pin: $10.

All Gary had to do, of course, was come home from work and put his suit on and we were out the door.

Five minutes later, we arrived at the high school and all of a sudden, I felt like a stupid, ridiculous old lady. I looked around at all the "kids" and realized I was no less than twelve years older than any of them and I almost puked. I had gone from feeling all young, wearing something I had worn in high school, to feeling like Josie Grosie. Just imagine me on my porch with braces on my teeth, spinning in slow motion. . . only I'm 30, and I have been kissed, thank you very much.

Well, I sucked it up while Gary laughed at me for being a dork, once again, and we went in and sat down.

We had a lovely dinner (catered by Sizzler- niiiice.) which was followed by dancing. Now, I only go to these dancey things so I can see how good Gary is at it. Unfortunately, I have to look from very close up because he always asks me!

But, I gotta say, we to' up that dance floor. Sure, Gare Bear and I have like 50 years' experience on those younguns, but shoo'! It was so fun!

During the few dances I refused to dance to, such as samba "because my hips just don't do that," I noticed the high school boys asking ladies to dance who had come alone to support some student they knew. . . or gave birth to. . . whatever the case may be. I was SO glad I was sitting with Gary and no one would ask me because I obviously wasn't alone. Right?

Wrong.

From literally across the room, this guy made eye contact and headed my way. I felt a thrill of panic and dread and had terrible flashbacks of stake dances where you knew what was about to happen and there was nothing you could do about it, and running away was just plain rude. So, I subconsciously inched closer to Gary, who was indeed sitting next to me, talking to me and everything, when J.T. asked me to dance.

I said, "Yes," and hopped up because that's what you do and realized with even more dread that it was a Triple Swing. I had been to enough swing dances in my day, (you know, dances I would have gone to when this guy was 6) to know exactly how this was going to go.

So, I started dancing when he told me to, which was nowhere near the beat, but whatever, and he asked, "So, do you go here?"

All of a sudden I loved J.T. (and I don't mean James Taylor because I've loved him for a long time.)

I said, between triple steps, "Oh nooooo, I don't go here. I'm thirty. But thank you for asking."

I watched him closely as I went from being a potential date for ice cream at Arctic (pronounced "Artic") Circle after the dance, to being a complete waste of his time- an complete, old waste of his time. After a few seconds, he replied, "Oh. . . Interesting." And I laughed out loud. Right out loud. I knew exactly what "thirty" sounded like to him because it used to sound the same to me. But, if "50 is the new 30," then I'm like 10. . . which actually doesn't help things.

Anyway, J.T. and I shared a very awkward dance, where I was flung about like a rag doll, an old, brittle rag doll, and where I kept apologizing for things I wasn't doing wrong, and I just missed Gary the whole time. Then, he walked me to my table and left.

Oh sure, he was cordial. He was a nice guy. I'm sure if we met anywhere else, he would have offered to help me cross the street or something. And though I was a total waste of young J.T.'s time, I just love that guy. And yeah, the lights were dim and I had a prom dress on, but how much longer am I going to be confused with someone who "goes here?"

Not long, my friends. Not long.