My son, the one who does not care if his clothes match and he who hates to shower, attended his first mixer on Friday night.
Yeah, process that, would you?
His friend called to see if he’d be interested in going. Warren agreed, having NO CLUE what a mixer was, but falling for the sales pitch of ‘all you can eat pizza and soda for fifteen bucks’! I giggled as he told me and then gave my permission for him to go. I followed it up with, “you know that mixers have dancing”.
Crickets. He stared at me dumbfounded. “Buddy. It’s fine, not dancing one on one. Just boys and girls dancing around and hanging out.”
Warren paused for just one moment before telling me in no uncertain terms that he would not be dancing. Not at all. I told him he might feel like it when he’s there, he could just see how it was going. Again, he stood firm, “I will not dance.”
As we got closer to Friday I asked that he just dance one dance. I told him no one would be watching him, and if you act confident while dancing, people think you know that you’re doing. I also showed him my signature moves – the sprinkler and the grocery cart, as well as the broken arm – a move recommended by my friend Kelsey. He finally relented but added that if people made fun of him, it was all on me. Ahh yes, there must be someone to blame and the mom - she is an excellent target! Whatevs, I wasn’t scared.
As I drove him and his buddy Friday to the mixer, his friend asked, “so Warren, do you have the hots for anyone?” I almost spit out my water! I answered NO for him, at the same time he did. Luckily, his friend didn’t either, and followed it up with a ‘I’m just not about that right now’. Shweh. Between them, they had a cell phone to call if they were bored and needed to escape.
Guess what? That boy stayed until the end of the mixer. The end of the mixer. And my neighbor was there chaperoning for a bit and let me know that Warren was a dancing machine! When he got home, he actually talked to me for a moment and told me he had a blast and that he’d be going to all of the mixers. He danced, and no one made fun of him and he was a sweaty mess with a sore throat from scream/shouting song lyrics and a belly filled with pizza. And he was happy and relaxed.
Dude, you gotta dance. The proof is in the pudding!