Dance Moms. Gross. I have always heard bad things about your breed. Then that eye-popping, nut-job reality show came out and it confirmed those rumors. However, I have never had an up close and personal run in with you people until this week. Hold that thought…
To jump into Marty McFly’s Delorean for a few seconds. My only sibling and sister was big in to the dance stuff when she was young. I (forcibly) attended more recitals than any boy should – basically at the threat of violence from Dad and endless Irish guilt from Mom. It was what it was. 150 girls ages 3-20 frolicking around a pressure cooker of a high school theater in June for what seemed to be days, but that would be an understatement. The actual average length – start to finish – of a dance recital is a 13.5 days; on the low side. Tell me I’m wrong? Exactly. Families and loved ones broil in their seats for seemingly an eternity to catch a whopping 4 minutes of scantily clad 6 year old ‘Little Suzy’ spinning around the stage. It’s true, and you know it.
As I type this I realize some of my best friends are ‘Mothers of Dancers’ – BUT that doesn’t make them ‘Dance Moms’ – big difference.
‘Mothers of Dancers’ are just nice women that enjoy watching their little girls have some fun, learn a skill or 2 and have fun. Did I mention “have fun”? Women like my Mom and my wife.
‘Dance Moms’ are psychopathic, underachieving, soulless Nazis that are somehow living their “I always wanted to be a ballerina but My Mom never hugged me” dreams through their own kids. Dance Moms are in it for the show. Dance Moms are in it for themselves. Dance Moms are in it to win it. Excitedly slapping on enough makeup to embarrass Bozo the Clown coupled with an outfit that would make Lady Gaga blush…to a 5 year old. Yes, you have some serious issues, madam.
Dance Moms are evil devil women.
I had an “encounter” with a Dance Mom 2 days ago. My two daughters are taking a once-per-week class and having a ball. It is leisurely and enjoyable. This week is the Christmas show. Awesome! Excited to see them perform. Wednesday was dress rehearsal. Wife dropped them off and I was planning to pick them up. This is when I met my new arch nemesis, ‘Debbie Dance Mom’ with the bad dye job and giant Adam’s Apple.
First off, I pull in to the high school parking lot and there is literally 247,000 cars flying in every direction. Not only is dress rehearsal happening but every sports team from horseshoes to hockey is practicing or has a game. I am totally lost. After unsuccessfully attempting to get in to about nine different entrances, I finally found where I needed to be.
Walk in and the hall is crowded with parents, volunteers and kids. I notice the auditorium entrance is wide open and make my way inside to find my children. Once inside, its total bedlam and I see the stage is flooded with kids including my 2. Perfect, I’ll find a seat, watch the end of rehearsal and be on our way.
Here comes my new buddy ‘Debbie’ and here is what our “conversation” consisted of.
“Sir, sir….whar are you doing in here?” (in a loud angry voice)
“Excuse me? I’m just here to scoop my kids, I…” I politely respond.
“Well, you can’t be in here. There are girls changing and, and”
“OK, hold on, I ‘m sorry. I’ve never been here before. Just looking for my daughters and…”
“Well, you need to get out of here, NOW.”
“Ok, ok I’m sorry.”
At this point she is throwing me out da Club, Gronk-style as if I had crawled in the heating vent with binoculars, a mustache and t-shirt reading ‘Level 3, Yup, That’s Me!’)
But my embarrassment was starting to turn to anger. My patience to frustration. And her big, fat loud mouth was making matters worse.
As I exited the auditorium feeling like a Peeping Tom, I felt the eyes of these other parents wash over me as if I was headed for the Principal’s office.
I was almost in a state of shock. What the mother effer was that? There was no need for her to attack me? And just as I was wrapping my brain around this episode, it continued.
‘Debbie’ did not realize I was still just a few steps away from her and she proceeded to relay what happened, again in that loud, assholey voice, to the entire atrium.
“Do you believe this Dad just walked right in the middle of things? There are girls changing and he paraded right down to the….”
And that is when I saw red and this slob was going to get piece of my mind.
“Hey!” I quipped as I ducked back around the corner in to her line of sight, “I am RIGHT HERE!”
Without a flinch, she comes back at me with “Yeah, I see you there.”
Oh man, I wanted to morph in to Ike Turner at that moment.
“Look, lady (nothing more demeaning than throwing “Lady” at someone), I apologized. I’ve never been here. The doors are wide open and none of these nice people corrected me. NO need for this behavior. Put up a sign or something!”
“Well, guess what, I’m the sign!” she fired back.
Now I was having blurry visions of OJ.
BUT, before things got really out of hand, I simply smiled at her smug, ruddy face and excused myself from the building to cool off. Also, I naturally needed to check my windowless, white van with ‘FREE CANDY, Puppies and Unicorns’ spray painted across it – cause, ya know, I am a pedophile according to this crazy broad.
Called home. Exploded the story to the Mrs. and then I just let it go. Went back inside, politely greeted my kids and headed out.
The ultimate validation was, as I was leaving, a “Mother of a Dancer” chased me down and told me how out of line ‘Debbie’ was. I thanked her and never looked back.
Keep your head on a swivel this season, Debbie. Christmas may come early for you, if you know what I am saying?