Dear desire to dance,

Emma Suschkov
The Silhouette

Why must you taunt me so?  Every time I hear a catchy song, you make me want to move to the rhythm despite never actually imparting on me any talent.

Unfortunately for me, it is not exactly acceptable to break out into enthusiastic, if far from skilled, dancing in many social scenarios. Say for example my favourite dance tune comes on while I’m in the dentist’s office waiting for the receptionist to call my name. The other people in the waiting room might be tempted to run away if I suddenly busted some (awkward) moves. But that’s exactly what you make me want to do.  In addition to the social constraints that keep me from dancing whenever you make me want to, money prevents me from attending dance classes.  Whatever, I don’t want to follow steps in front of a giant mirror anyway.  I want to groove somewhere where I don’t have to watch myself and realize the visual horror I am creating.

Which brings me to the problem I face today.  I don’t have a dance outlet.  Apparently, that’s what clubs are for.

Except not.

When I say “dance”, I mean I want to do my thang and my thang does not involve grinding.

Grinding, while I see its utility as both a mating ritual and a way to dance/feel all sexy-like without having to learn how to dance, is not what I’m looking for.  It’s not what you make me want to do.  I’ll go to a club with the intention of dancing my face off to keep you in check for a while and instead of finding myself shaking a tail feather, I find other people trying to rub up on my tail feather.  This is not, in fact, what everyone in a club wants (some do obviously, and they have every right).

But what, then, am I supposed to do? Do I turn around and shout over the ridiculously loud music at them that our desires are not mutual? Do I give up trying to stress my vocal cords to insane decibels and just sort of run away so they are left grinding, confused, all alone?

Seriously, desire to dance, you must see how you injure me.  If there existed some way for me to manage you without all these problems and awkward encounters, we might live in harmony.

Until that day, please save it for when I’m alone in my room.

Please and thank you,

Coordination-challenged Cora