That was the only advice Troy gave me for my upcoming date. I went to high school with him and he knows he's talking about. It's not like I go into spastic contortions (see Elaine Bennis - Seinfeld) or attempt any corny disco moves...it's just that I do what all self conscious white guys do on the dance floor. I sway from foot to foot and when I'm really feeling the rhythm I'll throw in a couple of head bobs. This style was so prevalent at Hurricane High School that we've called it the Hurricane Shuffle for the past 30 years. It falls well short of embarrassing but it screams to the world "I've got no rhythm! Please stop the music and let me sit down!"
The advice was not just useful, it was going to be easy to follow. I always avoided dancing would continue to do so. Although we were on her turf and we had pretty fluid plans, none of those plans involved shuffling my feet to the beat. We were going to a Bar-b-que so there would be nothing to worry about...right? Upon arrival I see that it wasn't just a Bar-B-que...it was Tucson's version of Mardis Gras and there were bands everywhere...Doh! In short order we were sitting on hay bales and tapping our feet as the Fabulous Shitheads (I'm serious) pulled off a decent Bruce Springsteen. My efforts towards a shouted conversation were failing. I pretended not to notice that her feet were tapping and her shoulders were swaying. A bass guitar finally pulled her and a girlfriend onto the dance floor as I pretended to be fascinated by my drink.I love watching women dance. Do they feel as natural as they look? Why are they so good at it? The sensual movement of the hips, the confident pucker of the lips, the half closed eyes, the arms that know exactly where to go...the knowledge that men are watching and approving. Do they practice? Do they study video and and spend hours in front of the mirror working on technique? Are they as lost in the music as they look or are they aware of every movement? See? There's my problem. I think and analyze too much.If I still entertained any hope of not joining Holly on the dance floor, it disappeared when she added a new move to her repertoire. Without breaking rhythm she caught my eye, pointed a finger at me and curled it twice back towards her and the band. Forget Troy's advice. With an invitation like that I would have risen from a wheelchair and crawled towards her.
So I'm dancing. And I'm telling myself "let go, feel natural". But it's not working so I take a sterner approach with the repressed 17 year old inside me. "FEEL NATURAL, NOW, DAMMIT!" But it's still not working, so I switch to plan B...copy other male dancers. The guy in the cowboy hat is doing some sort of pivot/wiggle thing so I do the same. The Asian kid has got his arms completely over his head. This seems rash to me but I compromise and raise my hands from chest high to ear high. So in addition to my own patented head bob, I've got the pivot/wiggle, raised hands thing going on. I'm making occasional eye contact with my date and I'm hoping my smile is saying "This is freaking wonderful!" instead of "I'd rather be scrubbing port-a-potties!" But wait! That black guy is dancing behind his date with his hands on her hips. That's perfect! Close contact and she can't see me! So before Springsteen can finish telling me that ...baby he was born to run...I've manuevered myself behind Holly and very casually..almost accidently...put my hands on her hips...and oh my...I think she approves! Her hips start doing this rapid belly dancer kinda thing which is fantastic and my hands are very pleased to be a part of it...but then I realize that I've stopped moving. I'm too close to her to do the cowboys pivot/wiggle and it's going to take a fire hose to get my hands off her hips, so I fell back on the moves that have been proven for 30 years. The Hurricane Shuffle. Foot movement is limited to the heels only and random head bobs are encouraged.
The next song sped up but Holly was as gracious as she was sexy and she mercifully limited my "bear on a unicycle swatting flies" imitation to just about eight more minutes. Dancing was followed up with a nice dinner and some extremely witty (if I do say so myself) conversation. But alas, the damage had been done and my "thanks, I had a great time" email was followed with her "me too, but let's just be friends" response.
Sigh...next time I'm raising my hands all the way over my head.
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