Did You Guys Try This Soup?
College dances were substantially better than high school dances.
At my high school prom, I shared one bottle of wine with three other people before the dance. For an alcoholic, having a tiny bit of alcohol is like standing half-naked in the snow.
Since we weren’t allowed to drink at the prom or after-prom party, I spent 12 hours feeling cold and … off. This was followed by my not-drunk date falling asleep at the wheel and sliding the car into the median barrier. We all woke up quickly.
So the prom was not fun.
In college, my first dance was also very … uncomfortable. I went to Homecoming with someone who didn’t drink – so I figured I couldn’t drink either. I was miserable.
The most important factor for a fun evening became drinking freely before going out.
I drank just to prep for walking out of my room. Dances were especially uncomfortable because I never wanted to wear a dress. This was long before the gender-non-conforming ability to wear whatever you want. I hated “formal” attire.
But … there were formals. I had fun at every formal, and I attended both sorority and fraternity formals. We would rent out a hotel ballroom with blocks of rooms for everyone in attendance – so we could drink safely and pass out safely at the end of the night.
I proudly did this every time.
I went to formal one year with a guy named Joe who was a flat-out jerk. He was chauvinistic and just generally unkind, but everyone said I should go with him because it would still be fun. I drank and drank and danced and drank and danced, and it was indeed fun. (I still detest Jimmy Buffet’s song Come Monday because Joe loved it.)
The best dance ever, though, was my AXO formal with Jim. Jim was a legendarily fun guy who had graduated years before me. I think. He was always around. Jim always smiled, made everyone feel liked, and drank obscene amounts without falling over. We danced and laughed and danced some more. He was the perfect date for a formal.
At dinner, already drunk, Jim picked up the table’s bowl of Italian salad dressing. He was chatting away and he must have forgotten what he was doing. He looked down, saw the spoon in the bowl, and scooped Italian salad dressing directly into his mouth, smearing it onto his mustache.
“Oh my god did you guys try this soup?” he asked. “It’s the best soup I’ve ever had!”
We told him it wasn’t soup but he continued scooping, entranced. We couldn’t stop laughing long enough to stop him. Jim finished it off, straight from the bowl, then burped up salad dressing for hours: while dancing, while drinking, even in his sleep.
When I got sober – years after formals – I attended sober dances. They played music I loved and I wanted to dance, but I couldn’t figure out how to make my body move correctly. I wiggled my arms and legs but I felt stilted and confused.
I loved line dances; I’d learned how to do the Electric Slide in rehab. I appreciate detailed instructions about exactly what moves to make.
I stood on the sidelines a lot.
Then one night, I just hit the floor and started dancing. What I Like About You is very danceable. I closed my eyes and moved to the music and finally remembered that dancing is about the music, not about me.
Since then, I can dance. Maybe I suck, but I don’t care – and I don’t have to drink to enjoy myself.