‘Oh, it’ll be fun,’ I tell myself, as I spend seven hours doing my makeup and hair. ‘I’ll just dance like no one’s watching. No one will care.’ It’s a flimsy rationale, I admit, but one that works every time.

  But reality hits all too hard as soon as I enter the gymnasium, auto-tuned music blaring and a zillion moshing minors blending into one pulsating, throbbing amorphous blob. To say that I feel out of place wouldn’t even begin to suffice; I feel like a paraplegic watching an acrobatics show.

  Believe it or not, I do have a point buried in this sad little anecdote.

  As a generation, I think we need to ask ourselves a few serious questions: Girls, since when is it okay to spend an hour and a half rubbing your rear against some poor schmuck you can’t even make eye contact with?

  And guys, since when is it morally acceptable to get a woman that close to the zipper of your jeans without even asking their first name?

  And to everyone, everyone, who spends the entire evening smack in the middle of that psychotic human tide pool: Are you really going to look back on this, your hands on someone else’s thighs and a stranger’s badonk-a-donk inches from your face, as a particularly smart decision?

  Now, to be clear, I have no problem with dancing, nor PDA, nor the subsequent hybrid that I’ve so eloquently described. If that’s really the kind of stuff you’re into, who am I to judge?

  But it’s the vulgar nature of these dances, combined with the relative anonymity of both partners, that disgusts me so. Let’s be honest: There’s a reason why nightclubs are dark. Nobody really wants to see two total strangers commingling. It’s just not considered socially acceptable in most circumstances. How, then, does a school dance differ?

  “But, Haley,” you say, “I only dance with my closest, bestest buddies. Surely that’s moral?”

  Well, yes. But it’s still meaningless promiscuity. I mean, when have you ever heard someone say, “It was fun grinding with you last night. Give me a call sometime.”

  Maybe our parents had it right. Whenever I watch Sixteen Candles, or one of those other sappy 80’s teen movies, I can’t help but envy my mom and dad. Their dances were perfect: Monogamous, romantic, and required only minimal physical coordination. Oh, what a glorious age.

  Even Grandma has a leg up on my generation, when it comes to partying. She occasionally tells me stories of her youth, a dreamy look in her eyes. According to her (and the few films I’ve seen on RetroPlex), the 40’s and 50’s were a pretty good decade to party in. Everything was glamorous and beautiful – yes, there were horrific things going on in those Golden Years, yet they remain Golden just the same. Maybe there’s a good reason for that.

  Now, I’m not trying to demonize those of us who partake in school dances. You’re braver than I, if nothing else. And I may not see the fun in invading the personal bubble of twelve different people simultaneously, but if that’s what “dancing” is to you, then to each his own, I suppose.

  I myself will almost certainly attend Bogus Ball tonight, all dolled-up for a party I feel unwelcome at.  But so be it; I may not be one for freaking, but I can certainly understand the appeal of lowered inhibitions, impulsiveness, and music so loud you can’t hear yourself think.

  See you tonight.