Wedding Crashers Rule #84: Whatever it takes to get in, get in.

It's quarter to two on Saturday morning. I haven't been up this late in years! It's been a crazy night. Like... surreal.

One of the door prizes at
the 25th Sophiasburgh Central School reunion.
???

My friend, Kairn, suggested we go out this weekend for drinks and "shaloming". That's kind of an inside joke. We like to make up dances when we go out. Dances that are not sexy and could, in fact, be likened to something like The Carleton (from Fresh Prince of Bel Air) Anyway, the last time we were out we came up with shaloming, based on an autocorrected text... it's a long story and you had to be there.

Later in the week, my sister from another mister messages me to say she will be in town from the Ottawa area for a twenty fifth elementary school reunion.

Exqueeze me? Baking Powder? I've never heard of an elementary school reunion before.

It makes sense, though, having come from a small town. We all formed very close relationships with the kids we attended school from kindergarten to grade eight. We wet our pants together in the school yard. We knew who was the pukey kid. We knew which girl got her period for the first time at recess. We knew the kid who got sent to the principal's office for saying "boner" in Mrs. Haight's class. It stands to reason that Sophiasburgh Central School, who's graduating class was probably less than twenty kids, have stayed close.

Regardless, I didn't go to Sophiasburgh. My sister's husband did. That was my only excuse for attending and I was determined to drag Kairn along with me. We are The Reunion Crashers.

It was potluck - I made chocolate and peanut butter bars; Kairn made lemon squares. I didn't think we would know anyone there, but we actually went to high school with almost everyone. I got to see an old friend with whom I spent most of my senior year at Prince Edward Collegiate playing euchre. His wife also went to high school with us, but I didn't remember her. A lovely girl and I hope we get the chance to see each other at the 25th high school reunion. Ten minutes after we arrived at the reunion, "Joanna" convinced me we should do a shot of something.

"They don't have any tequila," she said apologetically. She was disappointed that they didn't have white wine or coolers either. I wondered what she could possibly have in mind for shots. Clearly, there would not be any "Sex on the Beach" or "Polar Bears" at the Demorestville Hall. "We will have to do shots of vodka," she declared.

Exsqueeze me? Baking Powder? I've never heard of doing straight vodka shots. Actually, that's a lie. I was a bartender at a Russian wedding about two years ago where they requested vodka to be put in the freezer for shots. I thought they were fucking cuckoo at the time.

But, what the hell? It's a lovely June evening in the middle of nowhere with about 15 people I never spoke to in high school. A shot of vodka should get this party started. It was surprisingly smooth and I think I may have found my new beverage of choice. My cheeks instantly went a shade of pink you might see on a package of Katy Perry perfume.

Next thing I know,they bring out an arm wrestling bench. Because no 25th elementary school reunion is complete without an arm wrestling match and shots of Smirnoff. Kairn wanted to take me on. I told her she did not want a piece of this. I was going to beat her down the way I beat her down in a dance off competition with Just Dance for Wii. I may not be able to shake my Bootylicious enough for Beyonce's Crazy in Love, but I OWN Tina Turner's Proud Mary. Big wheels keep on turning! PROUD Mary keep on burnin'! Rollin' (Rollin') Rollin' (Rollin') Rollin' on a river!

Kairn beating me

She slammed my wrist down in less than ten seconds. The second round, I'm pretty sure she let me win so I wouldn't pout and go home.
We didn't want to arm wrestle though. We wanted to "Shalom". So, we left Demorestville around 11 p.m. to see what was happening at the famous Hayloft.

I may have mentioned the Hayloft in previous blogs... I don't know. I would be surprised if I did, because I am AT LEAST ten years too old to be going to such a place. It is an old barn in the southwest end of the County about 15 minutes from civilization. There is always a cover charge and it is almost always packed with locals and campers from Sandbanks Provincial Park. In this instance, it was packed with kids whose diapers I may or may not have changed about 20 years ago.

Not to be deterred by the painfully obvious generation gap, we sat in the mow and watched the young people have fun. Then, Fatman Scoop came on: "You got a  hundred dollar bill, put ya hands up/ You got a fifty dollar bill, put ya hands up!" These kids were ten when that song came out! I needed to show them how to get down with the Fatman! Nay! It was my civic duty, as a quadregenarian to break it down for these fellas. 

I sucked in my belly for all I was worth and made my way to the dance floor with my hands in the air. I was shakin' my ass (Can I get a woot woot!) and raising the roof, settin' the place on fire! Those young folks didn't know what hit them. Actually, I'm pretty sure they were wondering what in the actual fuck granny was doing bent over on the dance floor and should they call an ambulance before it was too late. 

All I could think about was how short some of the shorts were! Those Daisy Dukes are cut so high you can see their little bottoms hanging out! And, one girl was wearing a shirt cut so low the only thing covered was her nipples and no way she was wearing a bra. I contemplated giving her a motor boat. I haven't seen that much glorious pendulum swinging since the Dykes on Bikes march at Pride Parade in 2011!

The young men, on the other hand, are either too hipster or too Deliverance. Too many geeky, black-framed glasses and too many bushy beards for my taste. Give me a middle-aged, clean-shaven guy in running shoes with white hair at his temples and his white t-shirt tucked into his boot-cut jeans any day.

On that note, The Outhere Brothers "Don't Stop (Wiggle Wiggle)" from 1995 started playing. I loved that song when I was 22. "Put yo ass on my face" and all that. Great song! But, I was uncomfortable thinking about those young people dancing to that song. They were so... young. So, impressionable and vulnerable. Just babies, really. I felt like grabbing extra beach towels from the back of my car and covering them all up and sending them home to their mothers. 

Then, Karen said, "All I can smell is bug spray." Which brought me back to earth and I told her it was time for us to go home. I had enough of feeling old and I was ready for bed. Yet, here I am at quarter after 3 on a Saturday morning, thinking about taking another shot of vodka.

Hm. (Another inside joke)