The other day, I was sitting around in my skirt and high heels at the *only* lesbian bar in all of San Francisco, The Lexington Club, peacefully enjoying a Bud Light with a few friends when, to my astonishment and delight, “I Had the Time of My Life” by whoever came on the the sound system and I actually had to restrain myself from tearfully smashing the bottle over my head and tearing off my dress in ecstasy. I love Dirty Dancing more than you will ever know. While QueerFem(me)inist concerns herself with the perhaps more pressing issue that there is only ONE lesbian bar in SF, I am still grooving to the brazenly anachronistic final number in the best movie musical of the 80s set in the 50s.

Oh yeah, this:

Best part is at about 2:30 when Johnny jumps into the isle and does his little jig while Baby stands alone on the stage, diffusing the awkwardness by throwing her head back in a fake laugh.

Finally, it was pointed out to me that Dirty Dancing‘s whole plot is driven by a pro-choice message. Can it possibly kick more ass? Uh…no.

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