On Friday night, I went line dancing again. Not that I wanted to. There has never been a time in my life where I have said to myself, “Wow, all this day needs is a large dose of embarrassment in front of hundreds of strangers.” But, it was my friend’s birthday weekend and you are legally required to do whatever a birthday-haver wants.
I had an eight hour shift beforehand but took a three hour nap and intravenously pumped caffeine into my body as soon as I woke up. I was fully prepared to make it look like I was a functioning human with arms and legs that work most of the time.
I met up with my friends after successfully getting ready and was only thirty minutes late (practically a record). All of my friends were dressed in their Daisy Dukes and cowboy boots. They also all spoke with a Southern twang and chewed tobacco. That’s how I remember it anyway.
Then there was me. I was the only one not wearing cowboy boots and I wore the most obnoxiously red lipstick I could find. All of this was to the chagrin of my country-fied (or should I say, country-fried) friends.
When we got to the country bar, everybody was dancing in perfect lines, totally synchronized. My friends jumped right in and either already knew the dances or picked up the dances very quickly.
I, however, struggled immensely.
At some points during the night, I wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment. I’m sure it is, but luckily, I am still alive even though my friend helpfully told me that I was the most “uncoordinated person she had ever seen.”
Eventually, I got tired of pretending to dance and stood on the side of the dance floor. A guy immediately told me to get back on the floor because he said I gave up. I looked at him as he talked at me. He was wearing a trucker hat which encouraged me to paint a little vignette of his life in my mind:
I told him there was no chance in that I was getting back on the dance floor and then asked if he drove his tractor to the bar. He laughed. And then he drank. I don’t know if I was the reason he was drinking but I like to think I was.
Eventually, I tired of failing and sat myself out permanently the rest of the night. My ego took as a hit as I realized that I was not a country line dancer.
However, as soon I got home. I ate an entire plate of cookies. There are always cookies to fill the void.