Dance Floor

The only credible conclusion to be drawn of a man who suggests, even vaguely, that losing yourself on the dance floor is anything but fun, even worse that it is embarrassing, is that this poor man has long since bid his farewell to the wonderful bliss that is youth and is assuredly destined to spend whatever remains of his hopeless life worrying about bills and other unproductive things which contribute nothing to fun in life. I will hesitantly submit to this conclusion.

Having said that, the fact that we tend to divine the perils of sex as teenagers only long after having passed that age or in some cases the age at which courting a teenage partner is considered gross or in still fewer cases when it’s considered illegal… ok, screw it, some of us will never get it. That’s beside the point. The fact that ageing is a prerequisite to understand the dangers of uninformed sex does not discredit the wisdom of abstinence at an age when you find it impossible to avoid a giggle while merely reading the two following words: boobies and wiener. It is based on this premise that I now cautiously proceed to the intended theme of the post.

To begin with, let’s be candid about whatever it is that we do on the dance floor. Any soul with a shred of honesty would now acceptingly nod that, primarily and unarguably, it is a sexual ritual – not “dancing”.

If there is doubt as I anticipate there vehemently is, let me invite us to deliberate over how nature bestowed gifts on female anatomy influences dance floor behavior. How strikingly coincidental is it that only women with silky smooth hair tend to wildly swing necks in trance allowing their perfumed hair brush those around them? How inadvertent is it that women with well endowed hindquarters more often than not prefer dance hall music? How convenient is it that women blessed with merry bosoms “dance” as if they were on a tiny trampoline? Need we deliberate more? I rest my case – it IS a sexual ritual. You are now either, in all it’s deserved right, baffled at just how prickishly sexist this analysis is or you are wondering when on earth sexual rituals turned out not to be fun. I have little argument to defend the prickishness of this “serious” article… so we’ll let it be.

For the rest though, let me now help you discover a precious caveat. Sexual rituals are extraordinarily fun only, ironically, when they end up with sex. Now look around you at the ratio of genders on any dance floor. Aren’t there three other men trying to court the woman who, you have deluded yourself into thinking, is interested in, to put it politely, your manly stare. If you believe in arithmetic, you know that chances of a happy ending to this premature love story is twenty five percent. I wouldn’t bet on my chances with those odds. So dear friend, the dance floor, a ritual it is; sexual it might very well be; but it isn’t fun.


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