Last night was Archie's work holiday party. He said they had a band named Tainted Love. I became much too excited because I was sure it would be all 80s covers and I could pretend to be 16, yet drink something better than cheap-ass beer in a plastic kegger cup.
As we walked into the club, the band kicked into "Melt With You". We boogied over to the bar and got some drinks. Then the band launched into "We Got the Beat" and Archie and I took big swigs of our drinks and bounced onto the empty dance floor. Screw the idea of waiting -- I had only a few hours and I was going to have fun. Plus, I don't have to see any of these people on a daily basis. Archie said later he will be hearing about how he started the dancing for weeks to come. Poor baby.
We jumped and twirled and stomped and sweated. Other people joined us. Yay! Then we paused during a Bon Jovi song (blech) to down some water and rest for a tiny bit. And mingle. Sadly, after a Clash song, the music took a turn for the ugly and was much too bad rock. We gave up when "Take Me Home Tonight" started and I screamed, "Eddie Money? Really? Really?"
Between sets, the big boss gave a short speech. He ended it by saying, "How many of you here were born in the 80s?" and was greeted by an obscene number of raised hands and hoots and whistles. I said to the people I was standing with, "How many of you had sex in the 80s?" and we all screamed and shouted. I think having sex trumps being born. Heh.
The really funny thing was eveyone we talked to asked about the kids. Not in a "How are the kids?" way, either, but a "Did you get a sitter?" way. We must look like very incompetent parents. And I guess we don't help that perception when we answer, "We left them alone at home. They'll be fine, right? 4 and 7 year olds are capable of taking care of themselves for a few hours." Maybe we should just answer, "Yeah -- we got a sitter and they're probably asleep by now."