I’ve always thought that the key to dancing was not necessarily to know what you’re doing, but to look like you believe you do. Or, better yet, to look like you simply don’t give a shit. There are a few people out there who actually know how to dance. They have a sense of rhythm, are basically graceful, and have spent enough time dancing that they can acquit themselves without looking like they’re having a seizure. Then there’s the rest of us. We look like we’re having seizures. And we’re in the majority – by, like, a lot. In America, there’s 300 million seizure dancers, and then maybe…23 people who know what they’re doing. (Right now, to yourself, you’re thinking that you’re one of the 23. But you’re not. Trust me. Your friends know you’re not, they just don’t want to tell you.) But as I said, all you need to do to seem like you’re one of the choice few is to appear like you don’t give a shit. Of course you give a shit, because we all give a shit – but to look like you really don’t care whether or not you’re dancing well – that’s as good as dancing well itself. I’m not talking about being in a music video or dancing with the Rockettes or something, I’m just talking about going to party and moving around in a convincing and impressive fashion. It’s a matter of confidence and careless joy, that’s all. But even knowing that, even though I possess the secrets of dance and the code to passing as a rhythmic, happening human being, I am still, when on a dance floor, the biggest doofus on the face of the earth. And the woman who forced me to prove that to her, well, she has never forgotten that day, I assure you.
Did someone say cliffhanger?!
To read what happened next, buy my new book Not a Match: My True Tales of Online Dating Disasters.