In Provotown, I live in my own little bubble of happy-go-luckiness where the shorts are to the knees and the Diet Cokes are caffeine free (I realize I’m exhausting this subject). In my little bubble, handfuls of pregnant people roam the aisles of Macy’s frozen food section at midnight and restaurants are closed on Sundays. In my little bubble, eyes are trained to look at the left ring finger and coming from a family of eight is no longer a gut-buster.
With all that said, during my power-vacation back to Moscow, I thought a little Provo-detox was in order; I was losing my edge and beginning to coo over precious things like kittens and babies and cringe at the sound of curse words that used to make me giggle. I felt like my life was turning into a mini-Disneyland(without lines and inevitable family freakouts, even!).
Thus(!), the Real College Experience. Thus, Stubblefield’s Summer Fun Foam Party. A Thursday night filled with smutty outfits, provocative dancing, and…foam. College, Real college.
At 9:00, I began searching for my perfect clubbing outfit that would highlight my best features: my personality and intellect. I decided on khaki shorts that hit just above the knee and a black shirt with some gladiators achieving the ‘risque-tourist’ look that I wasn’t aiming for. I then contemplated brushing my hair, applied 4 layers of mascara, and swiped on deodorant, for good measure. Watch out, Stubblefields!
10:00 rolled around and I was truly ready to get down. Granted I had been for the last hour; my naivety to The Real College Experience became apparent–when did all fun things commence after 11?
Finally, 11. As I drove over there with my burly crew in tow, I began brainstorming ways of incorporating the foam into my sexy dance moves. When we arrived at 11:20, I was highly intimidated. So many legs, so many midriffs, so much…foam. I knew I had to act cool and quickly headed toward the dance floor where I rotated through my only known salacious dance moves that included a lot of popping, locking, jazz hands and The Overbite.
From 11:20-1:45 I stared at lots at couples on the dance floor, in the cages, and on the couches. I also choked on the foam(incorporating foam into my dance moves: fail.) repeatedly. I averaged around seven panicked bathroom trips where I covered the toilet in three layers of toilet paper and checked my favorite mommy blogs.
In other words, my early bedtime habits, fear of tight spaces, and knack for being The Anti-Sexy are clearly not suitable to The Real College Experience. I’m just too lame.
In other words, I am headed back to my Provotown tonight. And I will be sipping caffeine-free Diet Coke(lie) and singing Disney show tunes the whole way back(serious lie).