Dennis Miller had a riff many years ago about dancers who take up too much room on the dance floor by acting out song lyrics to, for example, "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." The riff ended with the great (though profane) punchline, "Hey, lady, ain't no [------] dance floor wide enough!"
I think our daughter may grow up to be that dancer.
We went to the latest Baby Loves Disco party in Scottsdale this weekend, my daughter and I. Despite the catchy name, we left our younger one -- the one who is actually in diapers -- at home.
When we got there, we saw they weren't kidding about bringing the nightclub experience to a whole new crowd -- yes, folks, there was a line at the door and a bouncer. Never too early to teach exclusion! Thankfully it was only because the ticket counter was just inside the door and they could only let a couple families in at a time to pay or get their names checked off the pre-paid list.
Once inside, we were greeted with quite possibly the most fabulous sight possible for my daughter -- huge bowls of pretzels and chips ready for the snacking. She was so overwhelmed that she completely missed the large pile of juice boxes, which probably would have pushed her over the edge had she seen them just then.
As we moved to the dancefloor, it was interesting to note the, well, relative lack of dancing going on. I mean, there were a number of people, old and young, on the floor, but my expectations of high levels of groove-thang-shaking were not met. I guess I just figured the kids would be dancing all over the place, but they weren't, really.
They were, however, amusing themselves with egg shakers, scarves, a few feather boas, and, joy of joys, hula hoops.
My daughter spent most of her time on the dancefloor hula-hooping, usually on the hips, sometimes on the neck. She is very good at this. But no matter how good you are, hula-hooping requires a... wide berth on the part of others. And let me tell you, the dancefloor wasn't some Billy Bob's mega-floor. It's amazing that some kid didn't get donked in the head with a spinning hoop. (Or, at least, didn't whine about it if he did.)
But she had a blast -- heck, she won a prize for best dancer ages 3 and up for her seriously devoted hula-hooping.
In the end, I think BLD's advertising ("Saturday afternoon is the new Saturday night") implies that parents can retain a level of sophistication that they probably can't. (I'd guess that 90% of the adult attendees' attire would be unacceptable at the club later that night.) Having said that, the whole experience was sorta like one of the best playdates ever. Chillout areas with books and toys, cookies and snacks wherever you turn, and a funky house. The music? The icing, not the cake.
