I started laughing last night when, upon returning home from work, I witnessed our (two junior high aged) neighbor girls cutting a rug on the front lawn, gyrating and creating dance sequences to Jock Jams. Gyrating and dancing, that is, until the little neighbor boys came by on their bikes, and suddenly the girls remembered that they were shy after the boys remembered that they wanted to dance, too. I thought their make-shift dance party was all kinds of cute last night, and even paused for a moment before going inside to show them how I still like to move it, move it, after they, mimicking the song’s lyrics, playfully yelled to me from within the jungle-esque grass we call a “lawn”: Let me see your Tootsie Roll!

I started groaning this morning when I was jostled out of a cozy sleep by a highly digitized voice screaming BE AGRESSIVE. B. E. AGGRESSIVE, and the sound of more junior highers giggling and gyrating in our front yard jungle at 8:30 in the morning. And lo, the cuteness, it has officially expired.