The other day I had yet another earworm…”The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire”… Don’t ask me why it suddenly popped in my head. I can’t tell you but I think this is a serious issue that scientists, or at least Mythbusters, should explore further.
The song took me back, as old songs tend to do. In my younger days, the local pool had after hours parties called “Splash Dances”. I don’t think I missed a single one.
There would be a D.J. playing the latest tunes. A friend reminded me that his name was Jeff. He had the best mullet EVER. Jeff also worked at Payless in the mall. He’d talk to just about anybody that stopped by the store, which I did often. As it is with most memories, I wonder where he is now.
Splash Dances were great. As I mentioned before, I grew up in a small, blink-and-youi’ll-miss-it town. Anything, and I mean anything, was better than staring at your parents on a Saturday night.
Music, lifeguards, the pool…What could possibly go wrong?
The “Splash” part, that’s what.
It never failed. I would end up, fully clothed, in the pool. Most of the time, on purpose. To this day, I still don’t know who kept pushing me in. Probably somebody I …well… Let’s just say I didn’t know when to keep my mouth shut.
Regardless of how my nights always ended, soaking wet, I had a blast. It would be fantastic if, as proposed on facebook, we had a “Splash Dance” reunion. I’d go home in a heartbeat for that.