Dega Dega is the chief auditory quinceañera simulator. Things start off precious, poppy, and wrapped in white lace until the ‘ñera herself starts pussy popping on the bizcocho table in her new Payless heels. The grandparents flash their look-of-disgust yellowcard and things get helicoptermommed back to normy. DJ Martínez sounds his ceremonial air horn and the crowd claps along with unified glee. The brisket is tight and the Bukanas unlimited. The young lady has become a woman, only for the teenaged chambelanes to start daggering the whole court with ZIMAs in hand. Now half the attendees are raw-dogging in lot-parked Toyotas, Tia Juana’s macking on a sophomore, and you realize you’re not having a good time any more. You say you’ll never do it again, but for a year or so, it’s all you ever do.