09.07.06 A week ago, I did a girly thing. We had a bachelorette party for our friend J who was marrying our other good friend J on Sunday. It was the beginning of a whirlwind wedding bonanza, and while I am still young at heart, I admit to being old when it comes to recovery. After 4 and half days of partying, I am still on the mend three and half days later. So to today's youth I say, party while you are still spring chickens, cos this 30something fears looking like a haggard 40something before the end of September.
But I digress.
For the bachelorette party, I booked us a table at Babaluu's as J loves to salsa. We got there and dined on tapas and martinis. Tres fun but I was secretly nervous because it was almost 8 p.m. and the bar was still empty. I had been told by a salsa regular that the bar would be jam-packed later on.
She was right. One more martini and the bar was hopping. We joined the How-To-Salsa line dance. My toes were pinching in minutes, I was confused and doing too many two steps, but I persevered. Then the real dancing began.
Within minutes we had slimeballs hitting up our table. The first to hit us up was Gus. He danced with a couple of the ladies. When he tried me, he asked why I wasn't dancing. "I am not very good." I just couldn't bear the thought.
Then it happened. I wish I could say some hot young thang swept me off my wedged platformed feet. Nope. Some short little business man in a tucked in (ew!) plaid shirt, with glasses and imaginary pocket protectors swaggered over to our table. He gestured directly at me that it was my turn to dance. The other girls did nothing to help the cause but hoot and holler. I had no choice.
He took me out onto the crowded dance floor and immediately started swinging me around. I am no follower. I had a really truly difficult time relinquishing control and falling into step. Especially since I am a terrible dancer. I gave in and tried to follow along, letting him lead. The songs all melded one into the other. I wanted the torture to end but was not sure how to make it stop. I kept looking towards my friends with a strong but silent "Save Me" glare. They were too far away.
It was loud and sweaty on the floor but I soon knew what he was up to. Every time he spun me around, his paws would grab my breasts instead of my waist. The tall girl in me gave him one chance to make sure it wasn't just a mistake. The second time he tried it, his jig was up. I pulled away and said I was done dancing. He was upset! No, we can just dance slow if you are tired. Uh uh. By slow you mean you want to grip me tight. I bailed. Ran back to the table and we all bolted in the direction of the local titty bar to shock the guys. Unfortunately (fortunately?) we missed the boys by just a few minutes. They had gone the other way around the block.
Despite all the above, I actually love to dance.. but only to a DJ set or live music. Somewhere I can carve my own space onto the floor and dance like nobody is watchng. Tonight I am going to a hip hop dance class. I am excited even though I know I will make an ass of myself. I am way more likely to hop then be hip!