As a Guy Who Can't Dance

It wasn't until last night that I really realized how much I appreciate a girl that can dance. I may not be able to dance well, but I can at least find a beat and shake my fucking hips to it.

At a party last night, I asked a really cute girl to dance. I had strategically planned to ask her to dance during a slower song. So, when Elton John's Rocket Man started blaring over the speakers, I knew it was go time.

I did my best strut -- "ramble" seems like a more appropriate word here, seeing as I was somewhat intoxicated, but my intention was to strut -- over to her, and in my suavest voice and most eloquent speech spoke thusly, "Hey, wanna dance?"

She giggled and told me that nobody had ever asked her to dance before; I was soon to find out why. She put her hand gently on my shoulder, I wrapped my arm around her small waist, and she proceeded to freak out!

She was twisting and shaking and writhing and poppin' and lockin' like nobody's damn business! She was dancing at least slightly faster than double-time to the music. I was so confused that I started to wonder if I was dancing to a different song than she was. I knew I was drunk, but I didn't think I was that drunk.

She continued to dance to Elton John like she was dancing to Nelly. I continued to be baffled by her complete lack of rhythm; all the while I want to say, "Quit dancing so frantically. Settle down, let me grab your ass, and let's fucking dance."

I guess I just took for granted that every girl could dance at least as well as I can. Every girl I've danced with in the past has been able to, anyway. It's like it's genetically encoded into women's chromosomes to be able to dance. I feel sorry for that poor genetic mutant that I danced with last night.