A man's man....out with the girls.

I recently attended a father/daughter dance with my two girls Darby (9) and Logan (7).  I adore them of course, and sometimes worry about losing our connection as they grow from girls to women.  Girls are fairly easy to understand because they haven't been possessed by the spectre of female hormones yet.  As they get older though the inevitable happens and they become women.  A creature I have spent my entire life observing, studying, and trying to understand.  Like Dr. Jane Goodall I have made myself at home with one and spent time with groups of them.  To this day I am still baffled by their reasoning, communication, and inter-gender workings.

But I digress, like I said this past weekend I got some rare one on one time with the girls.  They have had this date circled in their mental calendars since the tickets were purchased weeks ago.  I was worried that they would build the event up in their heads as some sort of Cinderellian wonderland only to find the reality of the situation much more disappointing.  Regardless the day had finally arrived.

So after a morning of hustling around to get to soccer games etc. the preparations commenced.  I first treated myself to a haircut.  I realized that I'm getting older as the lady cut hair in places where it didn't belong, like eyebrows, and ears.  She offered to trim up the 'Stache too and I took umbrage with that, but just declined her offer politely.

Then it was home to hit the showers for the girls before their hair appointment.  Off we go to the salon to get all "purtied" up.  Now it has been decades (plural) since I have been to a hair salon.  Not since my mother used to drag me to them as a child while she got her hair cut.  Things have changed very little since that time, and I felt as uncomfortable today as a 36 year old man as I did when I was but a 6 year old boy.  I walked in and immediately stood out as the proverbial square peg trying to settle into a round hole.  To begin with I was a man and consequently the only man in the whole place.  Secondly these women were fashionable in their fancy dresses, knee high boots, make up, and not a hair out of place.  In contrast to me in work jeans, a t-shirt, dirty old boots, baseball cap, 5 o'clock shadow, and as always my big boy burly 'Stache.  Gone were the backdated copies of Field and Stream, Sports Illustrated, and Popular Mechanics magazine.  Instead replaced with Style, Cosmopolitan, and OK. 

I was greeted by a young raven haired lass with delicate features and porcelain skin "welcome sir, how may we help you" but I'm sure she was thinking holy smokes look at this knuckle dragging Neanderthal.  Much to her surprise I did not respond with our name and appointment time instead of with "Uggg...cut.....hair....girls".  But the girls, who had been there before, were greeted by their usual stylists in short order.  Usual stylists?  Another foreign term to me.  Where I go my usual stylist is the one who says "Next".

It was amazing to see the girls interact with the women cutting their hair.  Both of them just chatting away and giggling and laughing.  It was interesting to note that no matter what the age, women can talk with their stylists non stop.  My only interaction with whoever is cutting my hair is detailed instructions, and a brief awkward attempt at small talk that is usually cut short by a sideways glance from me intended to mean less talking, more cutting.

Haircuts complete we headed on back home to pick up the dresses, which were green, and corsages to head over to a friend of ours house to get some make up and get dressed up.  Now I'm not a big fan of makeup for the girls.  I secretly believe that there is a  secret chemical compound somewhere deep within makeup that speeds up secretion of female hormones and consequently causes girls to lose their minds and become women.  So I am looking to delay that as long as possible.  However, I was assured it would be minimal, and my girls were so excited at the thought of it so I suppose every now and then can't hurt.

I used this time to travel home and get gussied up myself.  With a shower, shave, and suit I was looking like the sharp dressed lady killer that I am.  Finished in time to realize that the time had come for me to go back over to pick up my dates.  I arrived to find them fully dressed, made up and ready for their corsages.  They looked beautiful, and I realized that they are growing up faster than I can account for despite my best efforts to the contrary.  So I put on their wrist corsages and awkwardly attached my boutonniere and we were ready for the obligatory pictures before leaving.  Some things never change.

Then it was off to take my girls to dinner at a local Mexican food restaurant.  We were seated immediately and enjoyed our meals.  We discussed important topics of the day like what the decorations would look like, who we would know there, what songs we would request and on and on.  We survived dinner without any spills, myself included, thankfully and were soon on our way to the dance.

We arrived shortly after the dance had started around 6:50.  Have you ever tried to explain the concept of "being fashionably late" to two young girls who have eagerly anticipated a dance for several weeks.  I would advise against it as I found it to be a irritatingly futile exercise in which logic and reason will never be able to trump emotion and excitement.  My two dates accompanied me up the walk and in saying this I mean the pulled me like a team of Clydesdales up to the front door.  Where we gave our tickets and finally entered the dance.

The Schertz civic center which is usually a drab utilitarian multi purpose space had been transformed into an underwater kingdom.  Through the miracle of balloons, crepe paper, taffeta, and dim lighting this once bland building was now alive and teaming in concurrence with the themes of the deep blue sea.  A large dance floor directly ahead through a balloon arch was teaming with several young ladies and their father's.  Around the room were tables and chairs for exhausted attendees to rest their weary soles.  Refreshments were in abundance and taken advantage of by one and all.  We soon found a table of familiars and claimed a space.

We spent the rest of the evening dancing, eating, drinking, standing in line for pictures, and generally enjoying the pleasure of each others company.  As it turns out this dance was not to much different then any other dance you might attend.  The dance floor was packed with girls dancing while most of the men could be found along the walls or in corners talking amongst themselves.  That is until their dates drug them by the hand out to the dance floor where many a "comical" dance move ensued.

As we were leaving the girls were still abuzz with excitement about all they had seen, and heard, and done.  They gushed about the decorations, lauded the refreshments, and discussed musical selections to no end.  They asked, and in fact pleaded to be taken back next year.  But I'm not easy date so I played coy, and was hard to get for a while but in the end relented and agreed we should do it again next year.  In fact I took it one step further and asked them to accompany me to a dance like this once a year until the graduated high school and they quickly said yes to, even when they get older and I'm not cool.  So if you need me on a given weekend in March for something on Saturday evening don't be surprised if I telly you "I'm sorry to tell you but I can't.....I've got a date."