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I have been in this position twice, dim lit gymnasium and all: once at probably 16, and then definitely again at 17. Same dude. Two different homewrecking chicks. Which makes him the hoe. Not me. And that makes me feel better. Like Robyn, I, too, stared creepily from a corner, but unlike the Swede, I didn’t redeem myself, my cool points, or my “Independent Woman”-hood with aggressiveness cleverly disguised as dance moves – you know, so as not to give up my poker face or appear completely pathetic in front of my entire senior class. Nope, not me.

I get goosebumps at the 2:42 mark every time I watch this, but I don’t get the urge to drive past his house anymore. (Which, yes, I did once you left with her. And yes, I saw your bedroom light on. And yes, I know your dad was home. Which means you probably only got something PG. Lame.)

Thanks to Robyn for turning drama into disco.

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