We all have our guilty pleasures. Some of us like trashy reality shows or celebrity gossip websites. Others sneak junk food when no one is looking.
I happen to like boy bands. And by “like” I mean that that is pretty much the only genre I listen to.
I’ve seen the Backstreet Boys in concert six times (twice during the same tour, but it was the NKOTBSB one, so can you blame me? The answer is no, no you cannot.). The new One Direction CD is on my Christmas list. I have a “Boy Bands” playlist on iTunes that includes BSB, 1D, NSYNC, 98 Degrees, and Hanson.
My affinity for bubblegum pop isn’t really a secret — all my friends know and love me anyway. I follow most of these people on Twitter (and tweet them in desperate hope of one day receiving a reply…), and if I was about 15 years younger, my walls would be plastered with pictures of all of them.
However. This is not something I go around proclaiming to everyone I meet, nor is it something I want loudly exclaimed in the middle of a toy store. People tend to look at you funny when they find out you’re 32 years old and you still obsess over singing and dancing man-boys.
Hubby and I were at Toys ‘R’ Us this past weekend picking up Christmas presents for two of our nieces. The littlest one was easy to buy for: she’s almost 3 and she loves to take pictures, so we found a toddler-size camera for her that we’re sure she’ll love. The 9-year-old was a little bit harder for us to agree on. While we were debating between a Crayola fancy-light-up-drawing-tablet (my idea) and a $120 professional karaoke machine (hubby’s idea), “Best Song Ever” by One Direction started blaring over the store’s speakers. I was about 20 feet away when I hear my husband yell out, “Hey Erin! It’s your favorite song!”
Now that may very well be true, and he may have meant well, but it’s not something that should be broadcast for the whole Barbie section to hear. So I did what any mature adult would do in this situation: I walked away and pretended that I didn’t know him, ignoring the snickers and pointing fingers of all the pre-teens around me.