I was young. Too young to be watching Dirty Dancing, surely. I had had a sleepover the night before and had most likely begged my Mom to let me bring her small bedroom TV into my room to watch a movie on it as my friend and I fell asleep. TVs were generally strictly forbidden in our bedrooms, so this would've certainly been quite the treat. I was like three. Joke. I was, I think, in sixth grade.
Next day came the Saturday chores. As was always the case with me, I could make Saturday chores drag on and on and on. A simple cleaning-of-the-room could take hours. Instead of filing away a stack of clutter and nothingness, I would discover my first journal in that pile and then proceed to read every entry from June 8, 1992 to September 15, 1993. Last year's yearbook? At least an hour of my time. Reading the notes written, looking at everyone's picture. Making my own list of superlatives. Best dressed? Nah, it should've gone to her instead.
My Mom was out running errands and what would make Saturday chores breezy and fun? Why, turning on the TV and finding something to accompany me in my arduous task of course! So, I flipped it on, straightened the antenna (whether or not this happened, I do not know, but I'm trying to date the story) and found a movie I had never before seen. What scene was it? I'm not sure. Probably this one. Ooh, or this one (and one more possibility, let's be honest). Basically, pick any one of the racy scenes and you've got it. Otherwise, naturally, I would've kept on flipping. So, here I am, watching something that would surely put my 11-year old self right in the confessional with at least ten Hail Mary's and four Our Father's to recite, enjoying myself immensely. I got sucked in to Patrick Swayze and his juicy lips and pivoting hips, the music ("Sylvia?" "Yes Mickey?" "How do you call your loverboy?" "Come here loverboy!"), and Jennifer Grey's rebellion against her doctor Dad. I think, for the first time ever I got a weak-in-the-knees (and loins, really) moment. That Patrick Swayze was downright sexy to my virginal eyes.
When my Mom came home, you can be sure my room was spic and span and that the TV was off. Whether or not I got to see the final, culminating, best-ending-scene-of-a-movie-ever, I can't quite remember (and pity if I missed it!). But, I had seen enough. Dirty Dancing (and Patrick Swayze) had captured my innocent, little heart then... and still does today.
And you should all child-lock your televisions.