I foresee where I might be having a problem this week, and maybe you can help me with it.
I can't dance.
That's not a big problem until the deejay announces, "Ladies choice." And then the terror sets in.
It all started back when I was in the third grade at the old West Side School.
The PTA held a square dance at the school, and my mom took me.
Everything was going fine until they announced, "Ladies choice."
Out of nowhere, Barbara Petrello came over and asked me to dance with her.
At the old West Side School, the auditorium and stage were located on the second floor. The restrooms were down two flight of stairs in the basement.
When she asked me, I took off down the stairs with her in hot pursuit. There was only one safe place for me to hide and that was the boys bathroom.
Since I was faster than her, I made it to the safety zone.
From that experience to this day, whenever I hear those two words, "Ladies choice," I head for the men's room.
My problem is, this Thursday, my graduating class, the Sioux of ’62, is having a sock hop for everyone who has graduated from New Castle High School.
It will take place at the Cascade Park dance hall from 7 to 11p.m.
I'm sure sometime during the evening, the deejay is going to announce a ladies’ choice.
I just can't remember where the men's restroom is located at the dance pavilion.
What if Barbara Petrello is there and she's still looking for me to dance with her.
I have seen the restrooms down in the picnic area I could probably run to. The problem is if I go there, the dance will be over by the time I make it back up the hill.
There has to be a closer restroom somewhere that I could hide in. I'd settle for a Port-a-John, as long as I don't have to dance.
My other option is to wear a disguise. I haven't seen Barb since the sixth grade, but I haven't changed much.
I suppose I could ask the deejay for a little compromise. If he makes the ladies’ choice the chicken dance, I can do that one.
See you at the hop.
Just don't expect to see me on the dance floor. I'll more likely be in the Port-a-John.
Check for me in there.
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