I do not like to dance. I do not wish to dance. I have made this perfectly clear.
So why, in the name of Christ, do you feel it is your duty to hustle me (get it?) onto the dance floor? You start by making eye contact with me from the floor, then motioning with your hand as if summoning a hot dog vendor. I smile and wave you off. You become more animated, incorporating join-the-fun gestures into your dance moves, enlisting others to join your efforts. Again I decline from afar, still a good sport. But here you come. You dance on over to me, clapping your hands above your head to the beat and stepping lively.
Next thing I know you’re within body odor distance, reaching for my hand. What’s this? You are attempting to physically yank me into the fold, waving off my adamant protests because you, presumably, know what I want more than I. A genuine tug-o-war ensues and I prevail only because I have strength and body weight that you lack. I am thereafter labeled a pooper of parties and looked upon with equal parts pity and scorn.
Why do so many think it is OK to behave in this manner?
mmm
Because there are plenty of people who are insecure about their dancing, who really do want to dance but need to be persuaded into it. They ruin it for you.
Not to excuse the dancepushers, because that’s obnoxious, but they do succeed a fair amount.
Your mistake, MMM, is to make eye contact with the dancepusher. Upon detecting the attempt immediately place your attention elsewhere and head to the far-side bar to replenish your drink, or to the men’s room. Or outside for a smoke break (What, you don’t smoke? Now you do). Or engage some other nondancer guest in a really animated conversation. Or strike preemptively and wear some sort of visible knee brace or ankle cast.
He may just not like to, or not feel like it at that specific time, and that should be the last word on whether he dances.
Or he may be descended from folk who were banished from the tribe because they were born without the rhythm gene and their dancing made the gods smite the spring festival with hail and hornets. Better not take that chance.
Just another feminist weapon imposed on males, “Don’t you know there’s nothing more embarrassing for a girl than to be refused to a dance by a man?” What crap.
In my experience, the dance pusher believes they have a better idea of what you’ll find to be fun than you do yourself. They don’t understand that some people actively don’t want to dance, and are happier that way.
-Non Dancer
I must add through that I find Americans to be really good dancers, if only because they can dance to rock music. I can’t imagine anyone in our country who can do that, even our rock singers.
When she dances, she’s charming and she’s gentle, especially when she does the continental. But this feeling isn’t purely mental – for Heaven rest us! He’s not asbestos, honey!
That’s not a feminist thing. Who the hell is telling you this nonsense? So, I get refused dances all the time. It’s not the end of the world. I don’t force anyone to dance if they don’t want to, just as I hate to be intimidated into dancing when I’m not in the mood.
Sure, it’s clear. What it’s not, is relevant. A rifle shot to the head will kill you. Being run over by an 18-wheeler will kill you. Doing something nice for another person for 4 and a half minutes will not kill you. Get up, keep your elbows in, shuffle your feet a bit, smile.
Going off at a bit of a tangent; but, the best and most overriding-proof reason ever, for declining to dance – an (unfortunately apocryphal) story involving the British socialist politician George Brown, active in the 1960s – 80s period. Brown was IMO a rather lovable buffoon, who tended to drink too much and consequently make an idiot of himself.
