Dancing the Night Away
Whenever I am in a bar or night club having a few drinks with friends I find it impossible to stop myself from tapping my foot in time with the music being played. It doesn’t even matter if the music is terrible. Half the time I don’t even realize I am doing it.
It’s as if a little devil and angel are sitting on either shoulder while they argue with me in the center. The subject of their argument is not my mortal soul however. The debate that rages between them is much more important then that. To dance or not to dance?
Despite my involuntary foot tapping I have always been someone who initially resist the call of the dance floor as if everyone’s attention will be on me as soon as I step a single foot upon it.
However, I always find it impossible to stay on the side lines for long. Slowly the foot tapping turns into a head bob. The head bob turns into a sway. The sway turns into a dance and before I know what has happened I suddenly realize I am out on the dance floor getting jiggy with it as if guided by some unknown mystical force. This might partly explain why I ended up dancing like a maniac last Friday while wearing a large novelty pimp hat. I was later described as a dancing machine but still have no idea of where the hat came from. Hopefully it was not from an actual pimp.
Threw my experience with involuntary dancing I believe I have worked out the mathematical formula that predicts what will make someone dance. I have worked out this highly scientific theory using a percentage system. The closer to a 100% scored during the course of the night the higher the chance that dancing will ensue:
Ha ha, you’re the cutest!
I’m pretty much a dance floor maniac without any equation! I don’t even care if I’m the only one!
And line dancing! I LOVE IT!!!!
to Tenakalaz: perhaps if you would move to the countryside you might learn to appreciate it… ;)
*waiting for T to take the bait…*
I’ve definitely been line dancing!!! 1) We learn it in school, and 2) I’m from Calgary- we like to pretend to be country.
Therapy is to dance as shoes are to guns. You cannot pay enough for a good pair. It’s like the contract that states ‘I’m your lawyer, you can’t put me in jail for murder’, which, by the way, is not unlike the ranting blabber: much candy, no sugar.
Cheers,
,-)
Tess, got the link at the trekkie convention? They love shrinks too
Cheers,
:)
You know, given your tendency to injure yourself….My mom has them, in the nursing home, although they do make one look rather elephantine…
Not I. The running man, possibly. More like the “get out of my way, this is a CHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!” woman :-)
The mere mention of line dancing reminds me of a tutor i had a uni who looked like Ned Flanders and dressed in demin ranch-style shirts and the tightest tightest jeans – we all “knew” he was a line dancer in his spare time. Therefore i can not take this form of dance seriously, especially since it doesn’t really seem to be dancing.
Any Man of Mine Better Walk The Line…
And by Line, I Mean LINE DANCING!
* FYI: You non country-ers “Any Man of Mine,” is a song by Shania Twain.
I’m not familiar with country but then that does sound enticing.
Cheers,
:)
What about the Birdie song
aaah, dancing is fuun! at least when you’re drunk… not drunk, not so much fun. :P hmmm…