I didn’t hear this directly, but I understand some of our friends want to go dancing one night soon.
Some friends.
My dancing career began in 7th grade. I think it was a sock-hop. I don’t remember anything about it except I was quite apprehensive about it and every one of my fears came true.
For 8th and 9th grade I went to a school that felt dancing (and drinking and movies and Disneyland and shooting baskets in the nude) was a sin. I knew these were just rules made up by men and NOT sins, but for the dancing portion, I was on board.
(maybe the famed anti-everything-fun Minister Increase Mather wasn’t really against dancing, he just had two left feet and needed a cover story to avoid looking silly…)
For 10th grade, I was released from the bondage of legalism and sent kicking and screaming into the world of dancing. I remember going to a high school dance and thinking they all looked like idiots. When I tried to see how I was doing (by watching my feet), I didn’t think I was doing much better.
For the last 25 years or so, I have tried to avoid it whenever I could. I went to the Prom and Homecoming my senior year of high school, but electro-shock therapy must have driven the dancing portion from my mind. I really don’t know.
(I was once accused of ruining an entire evening for more than 150 people because I didn’t want to dance. I take issue with this version of the story from those self-absorbed lunatics, but if I did, it was well worth it.)
When I moved to the Caribbean, it took about 45 seconds to discover that my idea that I couldn’t dance and looked terrible doing it was 100% correct. This is because everyone told me I stunk up the joint. Even after four margaritas.
If they want to go, I’ll go…but I’m not dancing. I’ll be the designated driver.
