I don't enjoy dancing. It's just...awkward and unpleasant and I'm not good at it and I don't want to do it and you can't make me. I'm too self-conscious for that kind of activity, and I don't think dancing with me has ever ended well for anyone. My self-consciousness wasn't always such a hindrance, as I do recall a few times that I danced publicly without a care in the world.
I can remember being forced to attend some kind of event when I was younger, but for the life of me I have no idea what it was for. It had the feel of a wedding, and I remember it going late into the night, but there was also a large number of students from my class in attendance, so it could have been a school function of some kind.
My mother was on the school board when I was in elementary, as well as a member of the Parents for French group, which advocated for french-immersion schooling (it's a Canadian thing), so a lot of the time the people I was interacting with from one thing would lapse into something else in my life as well.
...anyway, in attendance at this event were a few of my friends from school, a few of my sister's friends from school, and a bunch of people that I don't remember. Also present on this night was Karen, who I had had a brief attraction to when I was under four feet tall.
I like to think that I was the favourite young child of everyone that ever met me, but I probably wasn't nearly as adorable as I like to remember myself being.
After everyone had eaten dinner, and I'm sure there must have been some sort of presentation to start off the night, but, again, I can't remember every event my parents dragged me to when I was younger. I doubt I knew even then what it was for, though my mother likely explained it to me, I probably wasn't listening and didn't care. Just wanted to go home and watch "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" or something like that.
Wow, I should apologise for how tangentially-challenged this story has become.
So after the possible dinner, there was music, and a few people got up and started dancing. I remember very specifically that Karen spent a few minutes trying to convince her son to dance with her and he continually refused. Our families had been sitting at neighbouring tables, and when Karen's son refused to stand and dance with her, she turned and asked me.
Most times, when asked to dance, I claim an inability to do so, which is...fair. Seriously, if you'd ever seen me dance you would have wished that you hadn't. But I went ahead and took her hand, and we were suddenly on the dance floor. This time was different because, not only was I deeply in love with an older woman, but I was also too young and naive to know that I couldn't dance, so what resulted was probably some form of proto-krumping that my mother cooed over for years to come.
After a few minutes of dancing I started trying to explain something to Karen, which, in hindsight, was hilarious. It was funny because she was much taller than I already, and wearing heels, and that combined with the blaring music that drowned out my voice forced her to try to keep dancing while bent doubled over in an attempt to politely listen to whatever I was babbling.
I was trying to explain to her something that I had seen on television, some 1960's form of swing dancing involving one partner being swept between the other's legs and back up onto their own feet. After she finally understood what I was talking about, she took both my hands and said "okay, jump!" at which point I jumped, swept down beneath her dress (let's not go there, okay, audience?) and back up onto my feet.
Since I weighed so little, I got a lot more air on the upswing than Karen had been prepared for, and she gave a weak yelp as I flew up above her head. It was the look of terror in her eyes that threw me, and I found myself unable to regain my footing on the floor, which lead me back under her dress, and then swept up into the air once more.
We went on like this for a few minutes, while the other boys in my class had started to gather around. Karen's son was certainly regretting his refusal to dance with his mother.
Karen and I were having a great time...well, I was having a great time, and Karen was starting to sweat due to exhaustion, and then my classmates had to ruin my whole life. One of them stepped in and asked if they could try next. My reaction to the question was "STEP OFF, BITCH!" but Karen was much more accommodating and asked me if it would be alright if someone else had a turn. I'm almost positive I said no, but she convinced me to be polite.
For the next...forty-five minutes or so, Karen danced with an ever-growing group of young boys, all the while looking off to the side, to her husband, in a desperate plea for an exit from the situation. I'm pretty sure he just laughed and kept drinking.
I don't think I had another chance to dance with Karen that night, as it was getting progressively later and the group of boys was growing ever larger, but she was still dancing by the time my family left.
I just remember standing in that group of children at the side of the dance floor, enraged that I had finally found a fun way to interact with Karen and they had stolen it from me and made it their own. I was also furious that Karen didn't tell them to leave her alone so she could spend more time with me, because, clearly, I was the best option there.
But her kindness turned into my revenge as the group of children eventually grew to the point that she had to turn them away and go home.
It just goes to show you shouldn't cross the ginger kid. Actually...don't engage the ginger kid at all.
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