Time to move on?

I pulled into my schools parking lot for my final "Welcome Back" dance. I got out of my truck and made my way through the congestion of cars attempting to drop off their children. Waiting in line, I picked up a few lines of conversation such as "Oh my god, Erika got a text from David!" or "He dirty danced with another girl so I broke up with him." The dramatic dialogue drilled into my head and I started to feel dizzy and quite immature to even be in the vicinity of such conversation. I got my dog paw wristband and walked into the dance. The area was filled with the pungent, sweet scent of the newest Axe deodorant and thirty year-old after shave which some kids found in their dad's medicine cabinet. I held my breath and pushed through some timid freshman, still congregating by the door an hour into the dance.
I found my friends who looked as though they had been dragged to a Hannah Montana concert. Sadly I wasn't far off. The old, bald DJ must have thought it was a twelve year-old's birthday party, because the most recent music he played was Miley Cyrus, the rest being classics such as "YMCA" and "We are family." The dance floor was littered with freshman girls attempting look mature by humping, grinding and gyrating which looked more like seizures than dancing. A group of guys behind me began fighting over which graduating year was better, another group started a drunken mosh pit, while I overheard another group working up the courage to ask a group of girls to dance. It was in the moment I knew, deep down inside, I had outgrown High School.