Let’s Dance

Or not. Mostly not. There’s a reason Uncle Clay doesn’t dance – no rhythm. It was at least amusing however. I was out on the dance floor with a large group of mostly women though. Mostly our own Jaycee crowd, but there were plenty of local ladies as well. I took some comfort out there though because I figured I should fit in next to all the drunk guys. Even though I wasn’t drinking and I was dancing just as bad, I figured most of the women would simply assume I was drunk and not care.

That was the least of my worries. Bodily harm was top on the list. Mostly I was a danger to myself. This was based on my general lack of rhythm, flexibility, brains and coordination. In the words of Beavis, "Ow, I think I hurt my liver." As the night went on, the crowd grew larger and people got more drunk, I was also endangered by those around me. Being a small man, it’s not good to get in people’s way.

Feeling uncomfortable, odd and out of place, I decided to it was time to harness this craziness and start flirting. On the "How annoyed is the other person" scale, this ranks right up there with talking to someone on the phone while in the bathroom. A few folks heard I was hitting on some chick on the dance floor and was getting somewhere. I can assure you this was not the case. I think I was doing well though, until I starting talking. Which was surprising, given that this woman was wearing bright white pants with some sort of Aztec looking blue symbols on them. Apparently noting that her bubble butt did in fact make those pants looks exactly like an 18^th century urn was not a ‘cool’ topic.

Live and learn I say. But the night was not a total loss. After succumbing tot he blisters and sores on my feet I sat down and people-watched. That was definitely amusing. Then I went home.

Which was good because I needed to get up and get prepared for a great American tradition – standing in line.

Next up: Carowinds