In fact, when they began their reunion tour a little over five years ago, my husband bought tickets for me and my best friend. We got there, got seated (I was six months pregnant, sitting was good) and watched the crowd gather. I noticed there were two kids of people at the concert; those who were wearing their crimped hair in a ponytail on the side, acidwashed jeans, and the SAME T-shirts that they'd owned back in the day, though perhaps fitting a little differently. Then there were the girls who had the FaceTime passes on lanyards around their necks. You see, for an extra $300 dollars, you can hang out with Danny, Donnie, Joe, Jon and Jordan before the show. Most of these girls had obviously heard about the shenanigans that occurred last time the Kids toured, you know, before their boobs came in, and were looking to cash in on what they viewed to be a missed opportunity. They had on microminis, push up bras, and fishnets. They had that predatory look that sometimes girls get. And sitting there, enormous already, my friend and I were cracking. up. I mean, we shouldnt've judged; we were there. We were giddy. But it was so. funny.
Then, something happened. You see, the show started and the partition blocking the back of the stage came up. Our seats were such that we could see both the stage AND backstage. Please understand. I'm a grown woman. I've been married for a while. I have children. I have seen naked men before. And yet. Man that music starts going and I'm up and screaming and nearly hysterical. I'm singing at the top of my lungs. I'm dancing as well as I can with a tiny human gyroscope inside of my. And then, then they were changing their clothes backstage. I saw them IN. THEIR. UNDERWEAR. and holy moe I died. It was a very strange and thankfully temporary mental illness. I remember looking at my best friend on our way home and saying something incredibly witty out of my scratchy throat. . "what the hell happened to us." She just grinned.
So, today, here was the favorite of the videos I would watch with my sisters.
What about you? What's your guilty pleasure?