The Time I Refused to Dance

The only time you’ll ever see me dancing is if there has been a hell of a lot of absinthe flowing.

Because if you think you saw me dancing, you’ve had a gallon of the stuff.

It wasn’t me. Stop imagining me dancing and go home. You’re drunk.

This is the only time anyone has ever seen me dancing, and not really because I don’t think anyone would call this ‘dancing’ even if they had a flagrant disregard for the English language and the very definition of words:

I found the above video after I started writing this post. Fittingly, the filename, as labeled by the guy who filed it, is “008_zeke_kinda_not_dancing”, so I think we’re all on the same page here.

In short, I hate dancing.

Emphasis on the I.

I vaguely understand its purpose and fully appreciate that other people like doing it, but when it comes to me personally getting out of my seat and dancing – the seat I was definitely happy sitting at before you bothered me with a request to join you in flailing around with our bodies – I’m really not interested.

The only thing that I hate more than me dancing is how people act when I tell them that I hate dancing. This is the conversation I have every time someone approaches me at a wedding and insists I dance, regardless of my protestations:

“Come dance!”

“I don’t dance.”

“Awwww, why not?”

“Because I can’t. I cannot dance.”

“I can’t really dance either!”

“Then why the f&%k are you suggest we both embark on this fruitless endeavour?”

“Awww come on, it’s just a bit of fun.”

“I don’t want to dance.”

*grabbing by the wrist* “Let’s just dance! One song!

“LOOK,” *violently withdrawing my hand* “I neither have the ability to dance nor the capacity to derive enjoyment from my attempt at such. Don’t get me wrong; I admire your reckless abandon in inviting me into a joint social activity that you also proclaim to have no aptitude in – a claim that I doubt, by the way – but I’m annoyed by your insistence given that I’m being very clear on my stance, and doubly irritated by the assertion that I’m the one who’s being unreasonable. For instance, I enjoy karaoke, but I’d never harangue a random person into getting up on stage and insisting they sing a ditty simply because I have no issue with such an activity. You are, frankly, making me feel extremely awkward and this entire exchange has made my face sweaty.”

Anyway, my logic is sound but the nuance is probably lost when I’m screaming all that at a wedding with The B52’s Love Shack blaring in the background.

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