Shall we dance? On a bright cloud of music, shall we fly?
I don’t want to marry you.
I don’t want to bear your children. I don’t want to move in with you or steal your money.
God forbid, I am not looking for love.
I just want to dance.
You don’t need to be the King of Siam. Any man will do.
I won’t dance, don’t ask me. I won’t dance, Madame, with you.
Yeah, yeah I know. Here I am at a Saturday night singles dance. The band is playing and the music makes me want to get up and move my feet. That is why I am here.
So tell me, fellas, why are you here if you don’t want to dance?
We are sitting at the same table, and it is immediately obvious we are all single.
Yet you ignore me and my two friends as well.
You have your pick. A sylph-like, fit brunette, a perky blonde with fabulous hair or me… tall, voluptuous with a great smile.
But you ignore us all.
And when you do finally take notice and ask me to fox trot, I demurely reply, “I don’t know to fox-trot but I would love to learn!” You then look at me as if I was an alien or had just escaped from some asylum and then meekly sidle off, without a word, leaving me humiliated.
Fred Astaire would not approve.
Do you wanna dance under the moonlight? Dancing in the streets? Dancing on the ceiling?
Fellas, you have no idea of what a lost opportunity this is for you.
Don’t you realize that dancing could lead to something, perhaps… more meaningful?
See that girl, watch that scene, diggin’ the dancing queen!
So, we gals change our tactic and move from a ballroom-dancing setting to a more laid-back venue featuring a live blues band.
This type of music doesn’t require any particular dance style, just moving to the beat freestyle as our generation did.
Still, there are no invitations to dance.
So we dance with each other – a bevy of single gals grooving on the dance floor having a wonderful time.
And when the night is still young, we chalk it up to another exciting Saturday night in this town, and we leave with a smile of resignation on our faces.
Then suddenly, as if vultures descending on prey, I am surrounded by three men who exclaim in unison, “Are you leaving already?”
“Why, yes”, I coyly reply. “I always leave them laughing… always begging for more!”
(Yeah right… where were you all night when I wanted to dance?)
Not to worry. My posse of fabulous Zoomer gals and I have bought some authentic dancing shoes and have signed up for ballroom dance lessons.
My salsa is doing just fine, thank you. Quick, quick, slow. And the box step is coming along nicely. One two three.
And we are learning how to rhumba as well. So we “side, together, together” with each other. Complete with that Cuban motion!
I suggest you do the same, fellas.
Dance with me. Don’t say a word. Just dance with me.
Meanwhile, my gals and I will keep on practising.
In fact, if we can’t find any dance partners in this town, we are seriously thinking about auditioning for Dancing With the Stars.
Derek Hough wouldn’t reject us. Nor would those sexy Russians, either.
A girl’s gotta try. Two left feet maybe, but we just want to dance!
Last chance fellas… just sayin’.
April Lewis is the local communications director for CARP, a national group committed to a ‘New Vision of Aging for Canada.’ She writes monthly.
