From the moment that invitation comes in the mail, you're ready to turn a sacred Jewish rite of passage into an absolute rave. Luckily for you, you were invited by one of the cool kids; not some family friend who you haven't talked to in years except for that one time when you pushed him off the swings in fourth grade and the little bitch tattletaled so the teachers made you say sorry. Anyways, you've never actually been to a "party" per se, but how hard can it be?
What You Thought You Looked Like
You step out of the shower feeling like you are Michelangelo's greatest masterpiece. A touch of cologne gives you that irresistible smell, and a little cocoa butter lotion has you feeling some type of way. The new white button down and khakis that your mom bought for you look tight as hell, and you pull them on while examining your stunning physique in the mirror. You comb your hair to perfection and throw on a blazer that only enhances the appearance of your muscular frame. Is Versace hiring any new models?
Your shower lasts about five minutes, shortened partially by the fact that you forgot to clean your body. Upon getting out of the shower, you spray on so much Chocolate Axe that the smoke alarm goes off. After your family evacuates the house and you shamefully make your way back to the bathroom, you proceed to put on your white button down and khakis. Little do you know, you leave your fly down and forget to tuck in a corner of your shirt. You put on a blazer whose sleeves go well beyond your fingertips and then take the stupidest piece of shit selfie in the mirror. After closer inspection, you decide that the picture should go on Instagram where it gets a total of two likes: one from your mom and one from your sister.
You roll up to the scene of the banger and smoothly slide out of your mom's dope car. Your posse is already waiting for you, and they get into a "V" formation with you at the lead. Everything is in slow motion, and strobe lights flash on your crowd as you enter the building. Groups of girls stare as you walk by, so you give them a quick wink and they giggle and blush.
Your mom drops you off in a green Prius. As you get out of the car, you trip and get grass stains all over your khakis. Once you stop crying, you walk into the party noticeably late. Everyone stares at you while you struggle to find a table that has an open seat for a good five minutes. Eventually you just pretend you have to take a piss and hide in the bathroom.
Once your body starts moving, all the world drops dead. Nothing exists. There is no time, no other people, and no sound. No one can tell where the dance floor ends and you begin. Soon, a circle forms around you as you bust out every move in the book: the sprinkler, the shopping cart, the jerk. They're chanting your name, clapping, cheering. Have you ever seen Kate Upton's dougie? Well this shit is on a whole other level.
After requesting the song Tik Tok by Kesha seventeen times, the DJ finally plays it and you go berserk. The lines are blurred between dancing and exorcism, but the odd jerking motion gets you very sweaty regardless. Somehow you end up with your tie around your head and a pair of shutter shades on. It turns out that pretty much everyone sat down several minutes ago and has been watching you on the dance floor for some time now. Someone posts a video of it on YouTube and it goes viral in fifteen minutes flat.
You sip slowly on your shirley temple, mentally prepping yourself for the slow dance that you know will come next. Your eyes fall on Sally Sanderson, easily the hottest girl in seventh grade. You make eye contact with her and give the straw a little tongue action so she knows you mean business. She's like a wounded seal floating off the coast of South Africa ready to be snatched up by your jaws. The slow song comes on and you strut over to her, not even asking if she wants to dance. Your bodies are so tight that you could hold a coin between them. You give her the look, and suddenly the two of you engage in a passionate make out sesh in the middle of the dance floor. When all is said and done, you get her Snapchat and then you part ways.
You drink about four shirley temples while creepily staring at Sally Sanderson. She is visibly uncomfortable and makes certain that someone else asks her to dance before you do. So you get stuck with that one girl who is a foot and a half taller than you. Your sweaty hands hold her awkwardly at an arm's length away. An erection poking out of your fly is extremely visible and literally everyone notices but you. When you lean in for the kiss, she pushes you on the ground so you start crying and run out of the building to your waiting mom. You slam your finger in the car door as you get in and start crying even more.