It was my cousin's wedding reception, And I wore some creamy lacey dress That had to be approved of by my mother Before I shoved it in a bulging duffel bag to endure the Six hours of Dunkin Donuts bathroom stops And that weird stop-and-go traffic that makes me Feel like the color green.
As I stood at the brim of the dance floor, Trying to ignore the half-drunk staggering relatives of mine, I thought about whether it's Polite to pry your eight inch Torture-o-thon heels From your swollen toes Before anyone else bothers.
There was a boy on the other end of the disco lights, A silhouette that I knew to be slightly more muscular than the last time I'd seen it. Just about my age, or maybe eight months older if you had to ask him, Which I had about thirteen years earlier With some sand in the crotch of My Gymboree bathing suit.
I tried my best not to look over. The lights mostly blinded me, But I still wished to glance at him to see how straight his teeth were and how his acne had cleared up Because of Neutrogena SkinID Plus Or something.
I could tell that he was looking at me, At the too short lacey dress And my straight teeth And my peachy skin And I wanted so badly to peek over.
I wanted him to ask me to dance, Please oh God ask me to dance.
(Of course he didn't.) He was a shy kid, even at seventeen. He didn't say a word to me all night, Even though we'd gone to the beach together Since I was in Huggies.