Michelle Morgan

Michelle's solution to surviving family discos
Michelle's solution to surviving family discos

There was a family disco taking place in a local school last week, and my daughter insisted I take her along.

The hall was decked out in streamers and banners, with a DJ and laser show and a tuck shop/raffle stand. I found a seat and off my daughter went, burning up the dancefloor to some band called LMFAO. I’m no expert on these new-fangled pop stars but my daughter is, and she spent so long on the dance floor that the press photographer ended up taking hundreds of photos of her.

“I wonder why he is taking so many photos of me,” she pondered, as she twirled past my table, arms flying in the air and her legs doing a great impression of Michael Flatley. But while the photographer was enthralled by her dance technique, some rival seven-year-olds weren’t so pleased. “One of those girls stuck her tongue out at me,” my daughter reported. “I think they’re just jealous of my dancing.” “Absolutely right,” I replied.

So while she bopped, I grabbed myself a Funky Monkee soft drink and took in the sights around me. First there was a very entertaining man wearing bright yellow cords and a red T-shirt.

He found it impossible to do anything other than dance his way around the hall, even when he wasn’t on the dance floor. He cha-cha-cha’d his way to the tuck shop, boogied over to the raffle stand, and topped it off with a jive to his table, all to the tune of Abba’s Dancing Queen.

Then there was the middle aged couple doing a Fred and Ginger, while all around them five to eight-year-year olds looked up at them in bewilderment.

Finally there was the two-year-old boy who headed over to my table. He’d spotted my Funky Monkee drink from across the room and decided it was going to be his. He leaned over and quick as a flash grabbed the carton. “Mine!” he growled, and with that he was gone, taking my only bit of enjoyment with him. As I sat wondering what had just happened, I made a vow that next time I get dragged to a family disco, I’ll be sure to bring a hip flask filled with something slightly stronger than a raspberry drink named after a monkey.