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Dance, Robot, Dance

I have realized that I told a lie in my previous entry, where I said I have never won anything. This is not true. Imagine this, if you will: it is the spring of 1987. I am attending a school dance in all my dorky fifth-grade outcast glory, wearing - if I recall correctly - an agonizingly selected dip-dyed crinkled gauze skirt in shades of magenta and orange, an oversized pink t-shirt, and one of those fake leather hip belts. Despite my haute couture, I was, let's say, not the most socially successful eleven-year-old. I watched some of the cool kids slow-dance, looking sheepish, while the worldly sixth-graders took advantage of the opportunity to act blase about the whole thing. I was dissatisfied, as I was during most social events throughout pre- and teenagerhood, by the lack of any momentous events. No boys magically noticed my charms, and I did not suddenly acquire breakdancing skills; it was entirely unlike the movies and I was vaguely unhappy about this fact.

But then - then! One of the coolest of the sixth-grade girls announced that there would be a dance contest. I prepared myself to fade into the background, as was only fitting for a low-tier social being such as myself. And then I heard it - the opening strains of "Walk Like An Egyptian." Whoa. This was it. I'm not sure that I actually said aloud "I OWN this mutha," but that was the general idea. Dancing to the Bangles hit? Hell, I'd done that a million times, in my living room, during the many weeks the song had appeared in the Top 20 Countdown. I knew this was my moment. I moved to the front, and I danced like the Red freaking Shoes. I shook it, all right. I shimmied. I vamped. I did that stupid arm thing they did in the video. I was on fire.

And still and all, I didn't expect anything to happen - I mean, I wasn't one of the cool kids; us lower beings didn't get such recognition. But. Somehow - maybe the dirt on the social hierarchy didn't get transmitted from grade to grade - after a breathless pause for the judges to confer, the imposingly popular and stylish sixth-grade clique doing the judging called my name.

This wasn't a fairy tale. I didn't get first prize, of course - who could expect such a thing? I came in second. But even so, I'll always treasure that ultimate expression of acceptance, the true judgment of talent rather than popularity - the LP single of "Mandolin Rain" by Bruce Hornsby and the Range. Ah, yes. I am indeed a winner.