Rights of Passage – Whether or Not They’re Welcome
Posted by Bethaney - Tagged , ,

“It is a statement of fact. It’s more professional. It’s not like she discovered a cure for cancer,” explains Dwight Schrute, character from The Office, of the above sign.

Yesterday I made my way into joining the super age of majority. (If turning 18 is “joining majority,” turning mid 20s is its super counterpart). To celebrate, I did what any normal red-blooded United Statesian would do: I forced my family to play Harry Potter trivia games – only to be embarrassingly crushed by a team which included my can’t-name-harry’s-best-friend mother. But despite my efforts to force her into a continual state of loving HP, the day of my birthday eve was met with a completely different type of nerd-dom: ballet.

For my big day, the boy, good sport that he is, took me to a Russian ballet performance. He splurged for second-row tickets (or would have, had a computer glitch not provided them at the reasonable price of $0.00 + tax). And he only made a mild amount of jokes about the semi-naked men on stage. As we watched dancers in half outfits – consisting of painted on tights and shirts – hop around with un-proportional thigh muscles, he only sometimes looked away to giggle. But, even in my one-year-older state, I couldn’t help but do the same. Men in clothes that leave no room to the imagination is funny at all ages. No amount of maturity can prepare the human brain for exposed parts prancing, especially at 10 feet away.

About an hour into the show, I came up with the idea of including Ken-doll molds into tights. Mattel had it right from the beginning: no one wants to see the shapes and the outlines, just lump it all together and call it good. Because even when you are a professional dancer, tights are not pants.

Then at two hours and 15 minutes in, I really just wanted the show to be over. There were constant bows and breaks for applause, yet the show seemed to lurch forward at a constant speed. As much as I love watching ballet, a person can only handle so many giant hand gestures and B dancers romping around covered in fabrics and wigs. (Then again, if I could stand at the ends of my toenails for hours on end, I’d probably force others to witness the event as well.)

Man tights aside, I had a successful and nerd-induced birthday celebration. I can only hope the following years will provide for such a plethora of entertainment and jokes, whether intentional or not.


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