Time Travelling with Phil Collins

I was on hold at work and they had piped in muzak of Phil Collins' "One More Night." I was transported from my high-powered cubicle job to a simpler time: My Junior High Prom. Never had a school cafeteria been so magical! With a mirrorball, balloon arches and fold-out tables complete with tablecloths and the finest plastic punch bowls Fort Bend ISD's recreation budget could afford!

I wore my brand new one-size-too-big-oh-you'll-grow-into-it three piece suit and prowled the room. And by prowled the room, I mean stood against the back wall lifting my chin up to the ladies in the universal sign of "sup?" (That's a shortcut to awesome and I don't mind telling you about it so long as you give me the credit.)

I had gone stag for a very good reason. My mother told me that girls never settle for the first thing that comes their way. This was the first dance of the year and no way was I going to be a sucker. Instead, I'd play the field. Keep my options open. Show them I don't need them and thereby amplifying my own desirability. The game is mystery and I was its pre-adolescent master.

Gentle reader, I must confess that I did not cut a proverbial rug that night. However, you must remember how fragile the feminine self-esteem is at that tender age. How would it have felt to have not been the first girl asked out on the dance floor? How could I have crushed so many budding flowers? I'm certain there are a score of women who quietly, in their heart of hearts, thank me for my restraint.