If there's a party with good music, I will dance like hell all night.
I imagine this to be an accurate representation of both myself dancing and others' reactions. I call those others "losers who should be dancing."
This has never been a problem before. I wouldn't even go so far as to call it a problem in this circumstance, it just had... unforeseen consequences. Literally not seen.
Let me begin by stating my new, and now passionate, belief: drinks should be restricted from the dance floor. Be honest. Have you ever been able to really dance well holding a drink? You're always worried about someone bumping into it or you spilling it on yourself or someone else. You may just be worried about losing any of your precious drink, not even on yourself or others. And forget about looking good while dancing and holding a drink. One arm either becomes a magic stabilizer and awkwardly doesn't move while the rest of your body shakes, or you opt for the up-in-the-air, my-drink-is-safer-up-high hold. Either way, it just doesn't work out. The solution? Ban drinks from the dance floor. It would make everyone less worried and look cooler.
Such a ban would also prevent awkward, dance-ending injuries that freakishly happen out of nowhere and could obviously happen to anyone not just a guy who was GIVING it on the dance floor and has genetically lax knee ligaments.
Obviously.
It's true. I'm such a talented man that God Dance and God Awesomeness must have taken note and said, "Whoa. That is too much dance for a mere mortal. We must stop it. Brother God Misfortune: shut him down." And down he shut me. With a perfect storm of events, my left foot at once betrayed me, jutting quickly to the side of my body riding that frictionless train of spilled beer. Mere nanoseconds later, at the moment when my foot jumped from the beer train and landed at a standstill on dry floor, my body was jostled- unmaliciously- by a fellow dancer. This led Left Knee, previously one of my most dependable soldiers on the battlefield of dance, to be attacked on simultaneously on two fronts. Painfully, he exclaimed,"FFFUUUUUUU[[CENSORED]]!" and hit the ground.
My left knee popped, buckled, and I went down. Having had a past experience of dislocating my right patella and it being surgically repaired, I was worried and cautious. I hopped up and was able to get off the dance floor and onto a nearby bench. The knee felt really tender and sore, but fortunately did not have any sharp or continuous pain. This took any kind of a bone break off the table for my differential diagnosis, but ratcheted a ligament tear to the top of the worry list. Being the stupid man that I am, I tried to "walk it off" and do a few laps around the place. I was able to walk,which was definitely a plus, but could tell it was going to be out of commission for a while. My caring but concerned wife and I were able to make a quiet departure from the reception, grab some NSAIDs and ice from a friend in town, and make our way home. Over the next few days I made a doctors appointment and self-prescribed the RICE protocol and ibuprofen. My knee seemed to improve and I became mildly confident it was a sprain with no tears. Yesterday, the real doctor concurred with my diagnosis. He recommended I take it easy for a week and then slowly work back to normal use and exercise. Also advised was this bold fashion statement.
Such a ban would also prevent awkward, dance-ending injuries that freakishly happen out of nowhere and could obviously happen to anyone not just a guy who was GIVING it on the dance floor and has genetically lax knee ligaments.
Obviously.
It's true. I'm such a talented man that God Dance and God Awesomeness must have taken note and said, "Whoa. That is too much dance for a mere mortal. We must stop it. Brother God Misfortune: shut him down." And down he shut me. With a perfect storm of events, my left foot at once betrayed me, jutting quickly to the side of my body riding that frictionless train of spilled beer. Mere nanoseconds later, at the moment when my foot jumped from the beer train and landed at a standstill on dry floor, my body was jostled- unmaliciously- by a fellow dancer. This led Left Knee, previously one of my most dependable soldiers on the battlefield of dance, to be attacked on simultaneously on two fronts. Painfully, he exclaimed,"FFFUUUUUUU[[CENSORED]]!" and hit the ground.
My left knee popped, buckled, and I went down. Having had a past experience of dislocating my right patella and it being surgically repaired, I was worried and cautious. I hopped up and was able to get off the dance floor and onto a nearby bench. The knee felt really tender and sore, but fortunately did not have any sharp or continuous pain. This took any kind of a bone break off the table for my differential diagnosis, but ratcheted a ligament tear to the top of the worry list. Being the stupid man that I am, I tried to "walk it off" and do a few laps around the place. I was able to walk,which was definitely a plus, but could tell it was going to be out of commission for a while. My caring but concerned wife and I were able to make a quiet departure from the reception, grab some NSAIDs and ice from a friend in town, and make our way home. Over the next few days I made a doctors appointment and self-prescribed the RICE protocol and ibuprofen. My knee seemed to improve and I became mildly confident it was a sprain with no tears. Yesterday, the real doctor concurred with my diagnosis. He recommended I take it easy for a week and then slowly work back to normal use and exercise. Also advised was this bold fashion statement.
I fully expect it to become the hot and wild new trend of the upcoming fall fashion season. I hear it's already huge in Europe.
Pretty strange events, all things considered. My advice? Keep dancing like hell. If you don't already, give such dancing a go the next time you have the chance. It's just too damn fun not to.
Until next time.
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