Chaperone

I was on make-out patrol at the Stake Youth Dance Saturday night.  (Translation: I sat in the hall playing solitaire and hearts on my laptop, wishing Jake were there to ask me to dance, while the YM and YW danced and giggled and ate refreshments.)  I found out later from two YW in my ward that I did a bad job--a couple had been in the primary room WITH THE LIGHTS OUT.  "But they were just playing the piano," said one girl when she saw my horrified expression.  In the dark?  I doubt it.  Some chaperone I am.

Toward the beginning of the dance I was feeling pretty hip.  All these songs from my high school days were being played.  Then one of my young women came out complaining, "Ugh, why don't they play anything cool?  We can't even dance to these songs."  So I started dancing, showing her how cool the music and I are (were).  "See," said one of the YM leaders, "Sister Henderson can dance to it."  "Yeah," said the YW, "because she's a child of the 50s."  Ouch.  I'm 33, people.