Guilty Pleasures

I just asked my sister her definition of a guilty pleasure. She said, "Something that you'd be embarrassed to tell other people but that you really love." Sounds good to me. Sadly, it doesn't take me long to realize that I have lots of guilty pleasures, one of which is about to become embarrassingly public in just a few hours.

I'm 25 years old, and tonight I'm going to see So You Think You Can Dance on tour. There are ten of us: seven college girls, one high school girl, me, and one of my equally embarrassed peers. We're even making shirts with cute little sayings from the show. I give you permission to shake your head in pity.

Am I too old for this? I think so, but for the next few hours, I don't care. I'm going to stand in a stadium with thousands of screaming teenage girls and yell, "I love you, Neil!" who happens to be my favorite dancer on the show. I'm going to look at the people around us and compare displays of fanaticism. I'm going to watch the DVD I made of my favorite dances from the season (yes, I made a DVD) before AND after the show to get the onslaught of reality-show dancing.

Yes, I'm going to bask in the joy that is a guilty pleasure.