I Got Your Retro Mojo Right Here

In case you missed it, last week was declared Retro Week on Facebook (is it just me, or is Facebook evolving into one giant chain letter? I haven't seen anything in the Bible that commands me to repost a goofy status update, but perhaps I didn't get God's tweet).

Unlike most of the inane edicts that circulate on Facebook, Retro Week was highly entertaining. In fact, I suspect more than 93 percent of users actually participated, which is more than I can say for my own drive to persuade everyone on Facebook to change their profile pic to one of Gary Coleman (but four people did, so I felt powerful, kind of like a Facebook She-Ra).

Unfortunately, I missed out on the retro fun. I was out of town last week and unable to access my totally super bitchin' awesome retro photo, so I am posting it here instead. Lucky, lucky you.



Where do I begin?

There is so much to love about this particular photo, snapped in a 1983 dance class (lest you assume I dressed like that outside of dance class. For the record, I only wore the red leotard to school every other Tuesday).

You know what complements a red, sequin-trimmed dance costume?

A mullet.

I rocked that mullet, almost as much as I worked my swooped bangs, parted in a nice, straight line to resemble a butt crack. Forget the Farrah. Forget the Rachel. The Butt Crack Mullet is iconic hair at its best.

I also love how one knee is actually bent backward, much like a Barbie doll's rubbery plastic leg. You can only imagine how graceful and skilled I was on the dance floor with my super bendy flexible Barbie knees.

Apparently, when I popped my right knee back, my one and only boob popped out. Judging by the photo, I was a Mighty Righty at 13 (as opposed to a Hefty Lefty). Granted, I use the term "mighty" loosely and generously. Sadly, the complete lack of boobs is the one look I've carried over from my teen years. Maybe I'll hit puberty at 40. (The good news, though, is that I eventually grew into those eyebrows.)

I also look Middle Eastern, which is only weird because I'm not Middle Eastern. Perhaps I should have a talk with Mom and Dad.

But my favorite part of the photo has to be The Jazz Hand. Ah, yes. You know you can't take your eyes off of it.

I should clarify. That was my version of a jazz hand (you're sorry you begged out of my dance recital now, aren't you?). Is it a jazz hand, or am I about to palm a basketball? Hard to say.

Every time I look at this, I have the urge to sing the Subway jingle: Five. Five dollar. Five-dollar footlonnnnng...

The funny thing is, I honest to God remember practicing this pose in the mirror at home before heading to dance class. I wanted my photo to be, like, totally awesome.

I think I nailed it.