I'm Cool.

Last week, my friend Shelley called me up. Shelley is a guidance counselor and she has recently started working at a High school in my neighbourhood.

"Hey Christina, you know what could be fun...?" She piqued my interest, so I bit.

"What?" These days, I don't have time to beat around the bush.

She paused. I could sense that she was really trying to sell this "fun" idea and I was listening intently. From superhero costume parties to murder mystery nights, Shelley usually does have good ideas.

"Wouldn't it be cool to see what teenaged kids get up to at high school dances these days?"

I could feel my eyebrows furrow and my eyes rolling up and to the left in confusion. Did she just invite me to a high school dance?

She clarified: "I've been asked to chaperone the first High School dance and I was trying to think of how I could make it fun and I thought to myself, if I had a friend to be here with me...a really cool friend...it could be kind of fun." Flattery goes a long way. I agreed to do it.

So last Thursday evening I found myself in the high school looking glass. My perspective reversed, I had the luxury to observe the world of teenagers without actually having to be mixed up in it.

As we approached the stinky sauna-like gymnasium, Shelley said: "Wow, doesn't this just feel like one of those movies where you step inside and are transported to the past?"

"Um...like Hot Tub Time Machine?” I giggled.

"Exactly."

Indeed, some things had not changed a bit. The majority of the kids were mashed together at the front of the gym, bobbing in a collective stew of hormones and pack mentality. Thin laser beams streaked in erratic patterns and highlighted the odd individual busting his moves on the fringes of the room. The deafening music rattled my core and tickled my feet. Shelley and I were posted in the far corner by the door. Our conversation was deafened, but we tried to share our observations anyway. Something shocking and disturbing caught my eye.

Several girls were dressed in seventies style jogging shorts and yellow and gold tube socks. Dear God, I thought to myself...is this really where teenage fashion has gone? I can, sort of, come to terms with the slutty shirts, skirts, and Pretty Woman hooker boots...but Chariots of Fire-2011? Never. It's like a new age feminist insisting that you need to iron your underwear.

Shelley explained to me that the students were told to wear their school's spirit colors. "Ahh", I said...not really sure that this was the best excuse, but I'd take it for the moment.

A hefty, nerdy looking boy with loafers and bad posture, approached us.

"I just have ONE question!" He yelled at Shelley. "Why?"

"Why what?", Shelley asked.

"Why is there NO FOOD??? I came for the FOOD!!!!" He stormed off. Hmm… yup. I remember that kid from my high school years. I chuckled and shook my head. Nerds...such interesting kids.

Shelley and I mused that we were still cool cause we recognized most of the tunes...albeit I admitted that I wasn't used to hearing the techno version of Ke$ha, but I was pretty damn proud that I knew who Ke$ha was (watching Glee has proven once again to be more than just mind numbing entertainment).

While on the topic of "cool", I decided it was important to text my 15 year old niece Robyn to tell her exactly where I was. To my horror, she had announced this past summer that she would have to block me from twitter if I ever tried to follow her because I was...too...too old!!! Shocking, I know! I pulled out my iPhone and typed, "I'm at a high school dance"

Her response: "Oh dear God...Why?"

"’Cause I'm young and cool...duh" I typed back.

"Hahahah, I know! Did you volunteer? Are you...partyingg?? (side note: I AM cool, but for the love of God, could somebody please tell me why teenagers add extra letters to the end of every word they text?)

"Hell ya", I informed her.

"Oh Goodness"

Our texting was interrupted by two sleek boys who emerged from the shadows. They were the high school players-you know...the over confident, good looking enough, cheeky dudes that all the popular teenage girls like to flirt with. The kind of boys that I found pretentious, annoying, and a little intimidating when I was in high school. By this time, Shelley and I had opened the door to let some fresh night air into the sweltering , sickening, stinking gym. They wanted to know if it was okay to stand by the door (and us) for a few minutes. We were nice and agreed.

"So...are you two teachers?" they inquired.

Shelley answered for both of us, "I am. But my friend is here to hang out with me and to see what high school dances are all about."

Suddenly I was being "checked out" by two oversexed, over-hormoned, boys. EEEWWWWW.

"How old is your friend?" The tallest cheeky one asked.

"OLD ENOUGH THAT YOU SHOULDN'T BE ASKING MY AGE!!!!" I yelled.

"You don't look that old...I'm 19! Want to come groove with us?"

EEEWWWWW. Suddenly I felt like Mrs. Robinson...or worse...a cougar...or worse...a teacher being hit on by a student. Gross!

"NO!!!!" They left us alone, feeling unfairly admonished.

Later that evening, I resumed my texting with Robyn.

C: So a High School boy hit on me. It was awkward but clearly somebody thinks I'm young and cool.

R: Right Antie[sic – this is a pet name]. Was he being dared????

Hmph...Hadn't thought of that.

The truth is...I am a young 32 and DAMNIT I am cool. Deal with it.