OVER THE PAST two weeks, I've been dedicating at least three hours a day to the Service Senior Boys Dance. It's a high school tradition in the week leading up to the Sadie Hawkins Dance to have a sort-of Battle of the Sexes among the senior class. This all culminates in a dance-off at an assembly on Friday, and the boys hold the crown for three years running, so we don't want to disappoint.
The dance consists of the usual clichés in sexist comedy routines. The boys cross-dress and look hilarious, and unless the girls pull it off perfectly, their attempt goes down in flames. This year is no different, and the bros and I have been prepping to be the greatest girl dancers in male bodies Service has ever seen, among other things.
I don't know if the college I'll attend will host something like this. IF they do, it will probably be so much more fun (not to mention provocative), but this will do it for me in the meantime. It's just nice to have the opportunity to make an absolute fool of myself for seven and a half minutes in front of the whole school with the great comfort that in less than 70 days, I will not be seeing 95 percent of those mocking faces again. It's a great feeling to have no anxiety about embarrassing myself, because as far as I'm concerned, they're all strangers anyway.
Our comedy routine won, by a considerable margin (of course). We got yelled at on Thursday for not being prepared, practiced through half of school Friday, and slapped together a routine that wasn't half bad. Even though it was stressful at times, those five minutes were a lot of fun, and I wish I could do it again.