Continuing on the bizarre journey that is my new life as an unmarried man, last Sunday night I attended my first singles dance. It was a learning experience.
The first thing I learned is this: I’m not the only single person in the world. Hundreds of men and women, most dressed to the nines, were in attendance. Three DJs in three separate rooms provided a downbeat for the huddled masses crowding the dance floors.
The joint was hoppin’.
My date (yes, I took date to a singles dance, which makes no sense at all, but you have to remember I’m new at this) is a great dancer; ballroom, swing, “freestyle” – whatever that is – she can do it all as effortlessly as Janet Jackson, and without risking a “wardrobe malfunction.” I, on the other hand, dance like an epileptic chicken standing on a hotplate beneath a strobe light.
So most of the night I sat on the sidelines, watching those with both a right and left foot (as opposed to two left) glide effortlessly across the dance floor. I didn’t mind. I love to “people watch,” and with the possible exception of the county fair, the folks on display at the singles dance were the most interesting group I’ve seen in a long time.
From time to time, a woman would wander in my direction and ask me to dance, but I demurred. The slow dances I was saving for my date and the fast dances, well, see the epileptic chicken notation above.
At first I was a bit overwhelmed by the sheer number of people wandering around, scoping out the “talent,” working up their nerve, and making their move. It wasn’t long before I noticed a few familiar patterns.
For the most part, these patterns centered on guys asking girls to dance. Some of these guys, I realized, have been single a long time and have the process down to a science. From a strictly anthropological standpoint, it was fascinating. I felt like primatologist Jane Goodall, nestled in the crook of an acacia tree studying the mating habits of chimpanzees while making field notes in a journal.
The guys who are old hands at this begin by working the girls at the back of the room. That way, if they are turned down (many were) nobody in the front of the room witnesses the rejection. Slowly, the guys work their way to the front, asking each girl in turn until one says “yes.”
Following the dance, the guy then buys the girl a drink, brings it over to her table, pulls up a chair, and sits as close as propriety allows. The boldest actually make knee contact. If the girl pulls away, the guy acts like the knee touch is unintentional. If she doesn’t, he settles in and leaves those knees touching as long as possible.
As the evening progresses, the guys who have yet to touch knees with a girl become increasingly bold. Part of this may be explained by the three open bars.
Meanwhile, the girls who have not been asked to dance nor had their knees touched become progressively more exasperated, cranky and unapproachable. The desperate, slightly inebriated guys collide with the cranky, unapproachable women and nobody’s knees get touched. By
My date returns from the dance floor, sits down next to me, and touches my knee. I note the behavior in my journal, wondering what will happen next.
Missed a week? More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at
No comments:
Post a Comment