A Time to Dance

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live back in the olden days.

Ok not that old.

But back in the days when things were simpler.  

The days when cows were allowed to emit as much greenhouse gas as they pleased.

When Kermit the Frog was not an endangered species thanks to Lady Gag me...I mean Gaga.

When vampires were terrifying

instead of pasty wimps with bad hair.

But mostly I wish that it was still acceptable to ask someone to a dance without planning how for months in advance.  Because these days...things are a bit ridiculous. Let me explain:

A highschool female will begin hunting season around June, plotting who her prey will be for

 the next year's dances.

She lets all of their friends know once she's made her selection, in order to stake her claim.

Then she waits. 

However, the huntress is patient. 

She is cunning. 

She is willing to do whatever it takes to get her man.

And she has a plan.

The night after Homecoming marks Open Season.  Soon other competition will begin to move in,

 and her prize will be in jeopardy.

This is why she strikes while the last dance's corsage is still fresh.

 

In the dead of night, she carefully chooses 17 of her nearest and dearest friends to help accomplish this mission of most importance.

They head off in search of supplies

and devise a plan that includes a jar of peanut butter,

a spatula,

 

and Luke Skywalker,

all tied together with a clever pun*.

They all pile into a Suburban and head to their target's house.  Leaving one designated getaway driver, they creep up to the porch with stealth that would make a ninja jealous.

They ring the doorbell and bolt for the car as fast as their flipflops allow.

The driver peels out within 12 seconds of ringing the bell, regardless of who may

or may not be in the vehicle.

And the deed is done.

The huntress rests easy tonight, for the first time in months.  She has beaten the competition, and won her man fair and square. 

She allows herself a small chuckle for the poor sap she asked, and wonders how long it will take him to find the tiny scraps of paper with the letters of her name written in Morse code that she embedded in the peanut butter.

This, my dear readers, is very much reality.  And it's a game everyone plays.  Because nothing tops the feeling of trumping the competition

and scoring a hot date.

*Whoever can come up with a cheesy pun involoving peanutbutter, a spatula, and Luke Skywalker wins my adoration for eternity.