After an extremely hard week at work and especially vigorous parenting challenges we are relieved to see Saturday night on the horizon. And so after little or no rest when finally the kids are in bed you tiptoe around your closet to squeeze into uncomfortably flashy and sufficiently inappropriate clothes your figure will allow. Then you get to work adorning your face with colors, glitter and shine which in a few hours you will erase with impatient disdain.
And at last but not the least, the piece de resistance, you slip your tired, pedicured painted feet into one of many choicest pairs of physical torture that are the party shoes. These are not made for walking and most certainly not made for rapture filled dancing on crowded slippery dance floors.
And yet that is exactly where you find them still strapped to your miserable pair of feet jumping up and down, thumping into the floor pressing into oblivious heels whose impending doom is for now getting drowned out by the combined effect of intellect numbing libations and a loud cacophony of sounds we call music.
Let us for a moment observe this very crucial ritual of community bonding that we engage in to replenish our spirits while we torture our bodies in preparation for our upcoming week. A group of friends to get respite, to catch up and reenergize after their weekly struggles are now seen waiting in line to enter an establishment they queue up and pay to get into during the final hours of their day off. As they are getting appropriately marked so they can be herded back in case they stray as is wont the case for many who lose their senses due to the disorienting effects of said establishments the lights are getting dimmer, the music louder and the air sweatier.
Now the troupe must craftily sneak into the milieu while dodging dangerous heels that can permanently damage your feet. However challenging the task at hand you always make your way to the loudest, most crowded spot and mark your territory with cursory nods. All communication now happens through careful signaling, eye contact and if necessary screaming loudly into each other's ears. We take turns to order alcoholic beverages aplenty to aid the continuous numbing of our extremities and amygdala as we flail our bodies to rhythmic successions of ear-piercing music. We have by now ceased to have most conversation and express our approval or disapproval of the music by gyrating our bodies and heads vigorously. The more familiar or popular the song the more extreme our seizures. During moments when we do not appreciate or recognize the sounds we observe fellow gyrating bodies and continue to maneuver and dodge as the crowd gets bigger. By now we glance at each other occasionally and mostly look around with vacant eyes, dreary bodies attempting to dance but looking more like toddlers bobbing up and down in their full diapers.
The dizzying effects are further enhanced by an endless exposure to fog and flickering lights, think bubbles for adults. This bizarre bonding ritual continues until someone or all decide they are sufficiently bonded.
They make their way out to the painful slow onslaught of sensations their body is now communicating to their brains. The female species of this entourage are especially keenly aware of the blisters and cannot bear to keep on their expensive shoes made for discomfort for another second. As they walk on the very streets they would not dare set bare foot on, they appeal to their male counterparts to carry them. These requests are often unmet as the beat up, sweat drenched males, glad their costumes don't require high heels are now busy hunting for unhealthy food. Once found, the pack feasts on their meal wordlessly argues pointlessly over the next stop to extend this bonding and continue their torture and then decide to call it a night after all. The baby sitters are counting their spoils and so are we. So we rush back having spent quality time with our friends who we haven't talked to much and crash into bed to make the most of the short few hours before fully rested energetic toddlers and tyrants wake our hungover selves up mercilessly and demand our full attention. We of course should be ready. After all we have spent money, time and energies on such a productive, quality, enriching experience with our fellow weekend warrior parents, right? :)