Blood on the dancefloor

You can see her looking at you from across the room. In fact, she’s been watching you all night. She’s all by herself in that sexy, ‘Daddy-would-kill-me-if- he-saw-me-in-this’ dress. Your friends taunt you to go over and talk to her. You rub off your sweaty palms against your Armani Jeans and summon up enough courage to make your move. As you get your swagger on you notice your bounce coincides with the intro to Neyo’s ‘Sexy love’ which the DJ’s playing – that’s a good sign. She’s even smiling as you get closer – that’s even better. You both start to talk, flirt, laugh…and you didn’t even have to buy her a drink! When she’s not looking, you turn to your friends across and signal with a ‘thumbs-up’ (yay!). Everything is going swell…until she asks you to dance.

You know you don’t want to but in the words of Chris Tucker ‘She FAAAINE, men!’ You can’t afford to let some other chump acquire those ass-ets. You’ve earned it! It’s her favorite song too so before you try to talk your way out of it she drags you to the dance floor anyway. Now, you tell yourself ‘I aint so bad, I was the hotstepper back in the day, I’ve still got a few tricks up my socks…but how the f*** am I supposed to dance to Say My Name, Say My Name?’ Is that even scientifically possible? You don’t remember seeing Destiny’s Child do much more than strike poses for 90% of the music video. But this is real life. She’s looking at your ‘leg/feet’ area like she’s saying ‘Show me what you got, you stud-muffin’. Your friends are watching…HER friends are watching…There’s no turning back…This is it! It’s time to bust a move!

You’re under pressure so you look to see what other people are doing but they’re just moving side to side. If you can’t beat ’em join ’em, right? But you’re in for a surprise! Your dance partner is doing the moves in the Destiny’s Child video and you’re starting to wonder if she was behind the choreography. Next up the DJ switches to ‘Dutty Wine’ and she gets into position to flip it on you – but you don’t quite expect it. It’s not your kinda song and you’d rather go sit down with her. You move closer to her to tell her this but from nowhere your face gets whooped by a pound of organic arm-length ‘shanikwa’ braids. You’re dazed but she’s too busy dutty wining to even notice the whole left-side of your face is swollen.

The DJ has put her on spotlight. She’s the main attraction and you’re just standing there getting upstaged. Everyone’s jeering and hyping her up and you’re still spitting out hair extensions from the previous head-butt (well, technically it was a ‘hair-butt’ but that’s just nasty). You try to back out to avoid any further embarrassment but your friends push you right back in. You know they wouldn’t let you get outclassed by a girl. You still haven’t proven to the crowd that you are the lord of the (dancing) ring. You’re seriously considering to do the Moonwalk then suddenly the DJ switches to Crunk – but you don’t know what the hell that is. Now you’re REALLY screwed.

As she starts to body-pop, your involuntary reflex is to shield yourself from attack. But all she’s doing is throwing arms in your direction like she’s going to beat you up. It’s so aggressive and so up close and personal that you fail to realize that tears are trickling down your cheeks. Everyone else notices though. They start to point and laugh at you. You can see your friends shaking their heads in disappointment. You’re too ashamed to ask for her phone number now. All you wanted was to have a quiet drink with the lads.You turn round to make a run for it but you trip over your own foot – What a clutz. You fall flat on the floor and fracture your nose. You’re bleeding all over the place. You’re definitely not having fun anymore. You want to go home. You want your mummy…

‘Hee-hee!’

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