A couple of weeks ago, I went to Bristol, Connecticut to visit David's family. The first night, we had a dilemma. David's niece, Emily, had a major dance recital. His nephew, Mitchell, had a little league game at the same time. Before leaving, I suggested that we attend whichever event the parents were unable to attend. When we arrived in Bristol we discovered that my future sister-in-law had issued an executive order, and Mitchell found himself in full on little league gear attending his sisters dance recital.
Along with every parent in the Greater New London area.
The dance recital was at a local Catholic high school. Upon entering the school, we were greeted by a crucifix with our lord and savior Jesus Christ, his arms outstretched, and a look on his face pleading passersby to let him down off that damn piece of wood already.
We entered the auditorium to find it packed with easily 500 parents, grandparents, and siblings of the dancers. Upon perusing the brochure, I found that the recital was actually split into four acts. Each act contained roughly two million performances. I tried to run for the exit, but there was a line of geriatrics waving gaudy bouqets determined to get to their seats before the Second Coming. I debated for a minute whether or not I should body check an old lady with a walker and hearings aids and make a break for it, but my Mama raised me right, plus, I wanted to make a good impression David's parents.
The recital was worse than I could have ever imagined.
Seriously, if Dick Cheney had appeared in a ball of flame smelling of Preparation H, KY, and poppers and offered to sodomize me with a pineapple dipped in sulfuric acid but get a free pass out of the recital hall or watch the show...I would have considered taking his offer.
The show began with adorable little girls in spangles and sparkles bobbing off tune to various “childrens” version of adult songs...such as a remake of Iko Iko that made me want to have my flag boy set the stage on fire.
At one point, a soloist took the stage. She was a buxom chick named Erica. When she walked on stage, half the high school aged men in the audience (and some of their fathers) popped obvious wood and started screaming her name. She had a ballet solo. I would not be overly harsh in saying that Corky from TV's Life Goes On would have been a more compelling dancer.
There was a moment of levity when a troupe of middle school girls took the stage. David's sister-in-law's sister leaned over and told us that one of the young things on stage was Mitchell's ex-girlfriend. They had dated for a week. She broke Mitchell's heart. At the end of her performance, Mitchell gave her a standing ovation. Straight men. Who can understand 'em?
Of course, it was suburban Connecticut, so there had to be some cultural appropriation. It took the form of a dozen adorable girls in mini-skirt kimonos doing a fan dance. My great-aunt was a real live geisha...I was offended on her behalf. But..the girls were cute and the dance was one of the best. But it was wrong and they should be ashamed.
The most hilarious, and the most ridiculous, moment of the evening came when a group of high school dancers, including Erica of Corky fame, took the stage and did the can can. I have never seen that much camel toe proudly displayed in my entire life. I mean, it looked like a herd of tourists on a ride through the Sahara desert up there. I swear I saw one of the girls' vagina grow a hump and spit.
In the end, the best performance was by Emily and her middle school gal pals. They were dressed as a bunch of escapees from I Dream Of Jeannie....and did a dance performance to “Walk Like An Egpytian.” I love the Bangles, and I used to watch the video of that song as a young lad simply for the moment when the shirtless football player walked like an Egyptian across the screen and into my pants.
After Emily's first performance (she was scheduled for two), we grabbed David's parents and beat a hasty retreat before the cackles from our row incited a riot from the parents that saw future Dancing with the Stars contestants on stage.
The minute I got into open space, safe from the bedazzled parents and their children in bedazzled spandex, I laughed so hard that my mangina spit.
Bristol, CT is WAY cooler than Bristol Palin.
P.S. There was one boy performer amongst the women folk...he was obviously a baby homo.