I Come From Another Place

Dancing last night with J.  We used to go about once a month or so but things happen and it's been a long time.  Broken feet happen.  Babies happen.  Bad bands happen.  We got out of the groove.  Don't get me wrong.  J and I never lose our grooves.  We're just too damned groovy to lose our groove.

Our old routine went like this: We'd order dinner (lots of chips and salsa) and talk about our families and our jobs. We'd catch up on news about the old gang. We'd share a pitcher of margaritas or have a couple of martinis each. We'd commiserate about the political and social atmosphere of our nation.  Then we'd move on to the dancing venue.


Our new routine goes like this.  We go to dinner and talk about our families and our jobs.  We catch up on any news about the old gang - there's not much anymore.  We might have coffee.  We rarely have alcohol at dinner. We commiserate about the political and social atmosphere of our nation.  If we're both feeling good and we can find anywhere to dance, we move on to that place.  If not, we call it a night and go our separate ways.  Last night, we felt great and we had a plan. 

The lights were low, the wood paneling was dark, and the band was playing when we entered the room.  The music ran all the way through rock and blues to salsa and hiphop. Several couples were already on the dance floor and we found a table not too far away.  It didn't take long before the first drive by occurred.  A man circled our table and didn't stop.  We were being checked out.  I asked J if she'd seen him.  She hadn't.  She never does.  It's something I like about her.  She's there for the music.  I've seen her dance alone many more times than with a partner.

We were served way-too-expensive cocktails and soon were dancing with numerous and varied partners.  I feel lucky that I was asked to dance by a man who happened to be quite good at East Coast Swing and I'm not sure if he had as much fun if I did, but I had a blast.  It's rare to find anyone who knows how to dance that style these days, let alone is a strong but not painful lead.  During a mamba, I feared one older gentleman was having some sort of cardiac event, as evidenced by his profuse perspiration and the way he was mopping his brow with cocktail napkins.  I asked him if he wanted to sit down but he insisted on dancing on.  We danced on.

You'd think all this would be entertainment enough.  But wait.  There's more.  Another girlfriend arrived.  I hadn't seen her in months.  Now picture this.  Three women.  One tall drop-dead gorgeous African-American, one Midwestern brunette, and one tall West-coast looking blonde.  3 women out on the town, dancing with any man who asks, buying their own drinks.  What happens during the band breaks?  Just this.

A man walks over, sits down at our table and says, "So what's the story here?"  He went on to tell two of us that he thought we were quite stunning but "not your blonde friend" - gesturing at her with a shoulder shrug.  He turned his body away from her, oh-so-slightly excluding her from his conversation. He actually insulted her, not once, but twice right in front of us.  I think he saw her talking to someone and immediately decided she was interested in that person so he didn't have a shot with her.  I'm not sure, but his approach was, um, interesting.  He went on to tell us that the "guys at the bar" had been talking about us and there was money riding on him coming over and finding out our story...where were we from, how did we know each other, etc.  He said he might not be very elegant in his questioning because he "came from another place".   Ah!  That's it.  He asked where I came from.  I told him, I also came from another place.  Kansas in Truthistan.

Now, know this.  The entire time I was talking to him, I was smiling.  I was charming.  I was Charm School charming.  I let him tell us his story about the bar bet and then I leaned forward and told him it wasn't very nice, what he said - twice - to my friend.  I continued to smile while I said it.  He kept smiling and he shook my hand.  He stood and he left.

Best part of the evening.  As soon as he left, another man slid right into his seat.  My girlfriends and I just cracked up.  Poor guy.  What was this?  Was someone giving out numbers for that booth position?

I don't want anyone to get the idea that we're three women who go out on a mission to mess with men.  We don't.  It's quite the opposite.  We all had a great time and I think the people we danced with did, too.  We aren't out to hook up.  We aren't out to take advantage.  We're just out being humans, enjoying the music.  Mr. Swing Dancer was kind enough to tell me of some places I didn't know about where I might run into some other dance-lovers my age.  I'll check them out.  In the meantime, I'll keep planning dinners with my girlfriends and remembering where I come from.  Truthistan, the land of smiling honesty.


©Michelle Scofield, September 1, 2012 All Rights Reserved