A while back, my friend Laura invited me to go Salsa dancing with her and I agreed to go but was secretly terrified because I’ve never been before and I don’t even know what to wear Salsa dancing. I couldn’t ask her because I didn’t want to look like a jackass because I have what is known as a bit of a girl crush on her. When I’m around her I act all goofy and get all tongue tied because she’s so pretty and hip and tall and blonde and stylish and she’s an artist and I just want her to like me.
The news of my crush on her makes my husband positively giddy.
Clearly though, I’m in way over my head with this girl because
A: As we learned yesterday, I’m scared of social situations
B: Having seen my dancing, would you want to bring that shit out in public?
C: Salsa dancing starts at 11:00 pm and I go to bed at 8.
D: There’s a chance I might hump her leg if I get enough drinks in me, which as we all know is very likely to happen. The drinks, I mean. The humping only might happen.
So I pussied out and I never called her because I was trying to think of a way to get out of our date. I thought I might somehow manage to become de-invited.
Maybe I’d agree to meet her there and show up in this:
And then run toward her yelling “Laura! Hey! It’s me! Hi-ii!” and then trip over the dress, twist my ankle, fall on my face and become injured with a fat lip and a broken ankle thereby leaving me unable to dance and forcing me to sit at the bar to nurse my injuries with $10 each vodka drinks.
Sounds reasonable, right?
I think it would probably be just enough to send her screaming out of the club, or at least hide under the table. Either way, she wouldn’t see my jackassery on the dance floor and I’d never have to go again. And that would solve my problem quite handily I think.
But I’m not gonna be a punk like that anymore. I’m going to learn how to dance the shit out of the Salsa and then Laura will let me lick her be her friend. I don’t have a video for you though because I’ve been feeling like shit the past couple of days (it’s my damn superpower again!) and I feel like dancing about as much as I feel like running naked down my street banging a metal bucket on my head with a dildo.
I’m not doing it.
I don’t care how much you beg.
This is the instructional video I took out of the library.
And this is my Salsa partner.
Use your imagination.