Busted

So we get to the ice rink tonight, Christmas Eve, and it's empty, save the woman behind the skate rental counter and us (me, my sister, our kids). At first we feel all cocky in our private rink, but after a few times around we realize that we miss the jostling with teen boys and the near-collisions with toddlers and the noise. Plus the lights are too bright and the only thing straining over the not-very-loudspeakers is an instrumental Christmas carol. We discuss. We try singing ourselves but unless we skate right next to each other only every third word makes it across the oval (I WANNA ROCK!...ALL!...DANCE! YOU! IN!...SUNLIGHT....!). It starts to feel kind of dire, so I approach the rental lady and she gladly hands over her banged-up CD collection. To say there is not a lot to choose from is an understatement, but I am with my sister and there is a "Best of Disco" compilation and the nice lady even lets me show her how to work the amp. Then she gets really into it, flicking on the disco ball (who knew?) and dimming the lights with a giggle. By the time I get back out, my sister is working her ice moves circa 1978, the kids are whooping and zipping around and it's a RINK. When the door opens and the security guard struts in I get a flicker of nerves, taking her for a cop and thinking she's going to...what? Turn off the little mirrored ball? Take us downtown in O little town of Pennsylvania? Instead she wishes embarassed me a happy holiday and heads toward the cocoa. Rental lady is fully rocking out in her booth now, even giving me a thumbs up through the glass, and over glides my sister, hollering, "Oh my god! Did you see the COP? I thought she was going to bust us for having too much fun!"