Count me out

Count me out

Nicole DeBlasi, Web Managing Editor

The first “dance” I went to was at sleep-away camp the summer before sixth grade. The boys were short, and the girls tried to act like they were 16.

The music consisted of The Jonas Brothers, and the dress consisted of wet hair, Abercrombie shorts, and t-shirts with name brands slapped across the front.

After the dance ended, groups of girls were crying because the “hottest” guy at camp rejected and humiliated them by lining them up and picking the girl he liked best.

Soon after this fiasco, the second “dance” I went to was the Monster Mash two months into sixth grade. I tried to act chill and dress in all black for the dance. I thought my “costume” screamed, “I know it’s Halloween, but I’m too cool to wear a costume.”

The dance was ruined, however, when my best friend told my crush I liked him. I spent the entire dance cowering near the girl’s bathroom.

Dances, it turned out, were nothing like Sarah Dessen novels. You weren’t swept off your feet by the guy you liked.

I had high hopes that dances in high school would be much better.

I was wrong.

At a club convention last April, the dance exposed me to high school socials: sweaty, claustrophobic, and awkward. Imagine 200 teens crammed onto a dance floor, smelling like body odor, bumping into people as they danced.

There’s more. According to an ABC News article, the average amount of money spent on prom is $1,139,  and Counties hardly costs less.

I would much rather spend my money on junk food than dresses and watch romantic comedies on my TV rather than live drama at the dance.

Besides, I’m not in the mood to get sweaty.