Half of the time when I'm not indulging myself in k-trash and American culture, I'm morally obliged to judge the public at large.
On a real note, let me tell a story of how I danced with a 7th grader during a senior trip.
Jekyll Island Georgia: our location during our 2009 Graphic Design field trip that was full of beautiful beaches, lavish hotels, and a multitude of jailbait nestlings designed specifically to throw your life into a millennia of court cases.
Before I continue, I will note that I had three grapes and a can of coke as nourishment during the event that took place. Basically, I wasn't drunk so this awkward mishap was my own fucking fault.
So there we were in this semi-formal prom deemed only for the wealthy. I easily gained entry by threatening the bouncer at the door. He asked for my invitation to go in, and with a haughty laugh, I retorted, "Surely a man of great fortitude should recognize another man in his exact likeliness! Ten minutes ago I brushed my teeth with double-mint Colgate followed by drinking a 16oz glass of pure-pulp orange juice. I refuse to have my egotistical disposition be deflated by a childish request for an 'invitation'." Completely against my positive expectations, I was henceforth denied entry, dragged by the collar and hurled like a saucer into the street, with much grace. By the pity of the gods, my supervisor saw what happened and rushed over, defended my case, and gave the bouncer an extra invitation she had stored away. With a nod, he let me in. Helping me to my feet, my supervisor asked why I wouldn't hand my invitation over and I proudly boasted that I didn't need one! ...And I may have lost it along the way to the formal.
"All of your supervisors have extras. We said this several times in case you lost yours."
"Spare me your mindless banter, commoner I have a ball to attend."
The dance hall was exactly as I had pictured it - tables dressed with food, the walls dancing with a Rococo design, and the company of others being merry. And much to my delight, I found myself forming friendships with some lads who might've been my long lost brothers if I didn't know any better. We danced, sang and paraded until my ego and pride were brimming over the edges, so much, I began to ponder why any females haven't floundered to my side. Then it hit me: "These are such fragile creatures! How could I have been so naïve as to think any one of these infant incubators could approach such a magnificent design such as I?! How foolish I have become!"
"Why are you talking in that accent?And isn't that a tad sexist?" questioned a nearby comrade.
"Quiet your sound-slinger, knave!"
Peering over the crowd, I scouted for a lady companion that could fit my qualifications, and to my surprise, I spotted one with such dashing complexion! Pale skin, blonde hair, proper composure; it's as if Aphrodite herself joined the realm of the sinful! And she's alone! By the gods this is a trap! Where is her man? Where is her husband? Where is her overbearing, brash, crescent moon-hunchback primate-of-a-boyfriend? With a fresh breath of air, a small fixing of my tie, I set my course.
"Yea sure, that'll do."
Wiping the sweat from my brow and the drool from my lip with a cloth I borrowed from a young mans front pocket unknowingly, I approached her.
"Ahem, lowly beggar- I mean, my lady, would you accompany me in this dance?"
A hoarse voice bellowed from behind me. An old lady.
"Ye want a fedora to go with that? Ehheheeeghh!"
"Silence your haggard cords, ye old winch! You belong in a box and not a dance!" I said with a striking gaze.
The girl tapped her lip, looking slightly away.
"I guess I could dance to a few songs..."
"Great! As the commoners say, lets boogie!"
She emitted a slight giggle.
Of course the first song that played was a rather dainty one. Very soft and delicate. Unbeknownst my knowledge, my ability to dance was that of a drunken sow. I awkwardly grabbed the cuffs of her hand and led the way. Confidently, I was stepping on her and everyone else's feet. Confidently.
A curious delight filled a part of me which I thought were empty. An unfamiliar beating in my chest, gravity lessening its downward pull, the unwelcome presence of lower-intestinal gas: all the positive signs of pure infatuation!
This was, as I say with hesitance, nice.
As the songs carried through, so did my questions. I inquired her whereabouts, her wishes and desires, all of which were followed by quite normal responses. A little... too normal. A tad boring if I do say so myself. I figured a lady of her magnitude would have acquired the knowledge of the world by this much! Her eyes that should have beheld the riches of the world, Mother Earth being held at the cusps of her hands, knowledge that would make younglings spring at the idea of a nomadic rapture, yet there was an unnerving silence behind every stagnant answer she gave to me.
As if I were in a trance, I persisted with one more question.
"What school do you attend?"
"Something, something, Middle School."
The first name of the school was blurry to my ears as the last bit took me away.
"...Excuse me? Ahem, what grade are you in?"
As if I needed further indication that, just a few months ago, she was sucking upon the sweet nectar on her mothers teet.
She looked up at me, her eyes deep blue as sapphire.
"Seventh."
Now, before I go on, I would like to lecture the readers on my levels of perverseness before I am judged too quickly! On occasion that I fall short beyond my flawless design, I do find myself mildly interested in the chest of a woman (a sign of wealth in my country), the form of their hips, (a sign of wealth in my country), and the curvature of the posterior in which a full wine glass of Chardonnay could be balanced upon (also a sign of wealth in my country), but never, and do I vehemently exclaim 'ever', do I find myself gazing at a fetus of a human mouth agape as I was earlier. The age gap here was most certainly an issue! However, with great patience and understanding, and a straightforward attitude heightened to give a explanation with clarity, I stated softly as to why we shan't further continue with our precious dancing escapade.
"Infant! Halfling! Away from me that of which reminds me of a hauntingly catchy nursery rhyme!" I exclaimed with flails
"Where is your guardian and how long have you been left astray by her you babbling, ankle-biting, drooling-at-the-lip, diaper-at the-hip, nipper?!"
"She's standing over there," she said gesturing towards a lady that resembled a soul riddled with divorce papers.
"My sincerest apologies miss. I believe I misjudged your... Underdevelopment."
With a wave from both parties, I returned to the dance and finished my night without the presence of anymore embarrassment.
And that's how I danced with a 7th-grader.
Now go read something that won't drain your IQ level, ya twit.
