I Don't Dance

Of all the forms of expressions that humans use to express emotions, ideas and stories, none is as peculiar as dance. Since the time people lived in caves and wondered if rocks were edible, dance has existed. It acts as a form of story telling, of passing down ideas through the generations. It is used to express joy, devotion, veneration and a whole lot more. It's symbolic of a people, and has emotional and cultural connotations. This ritual of swirling, side-stepping, bobbing heads and shaking tooshies is enthusiastically taken upon by boobies, tits, woodcocks (I'm talking about birds you perverts!), finches, grebes, flamingos, ostriches and other zoological species, including humans. 

No other species has so ardently evolved the art of dancing as humans have. From the time Og had a rodentosaurus run up his tiger skirt and he started flailing about to shake it off, thus inventing the first dance form known as rock dance (the predecessor to modern rock n' roll), humans have shaped, classified, codified, reinvented, borrowed, studied, copied and, in case of psychedelic trance dance, ingested LSD to make dancing a multi-billion dollar industry. (Of course I'm kidding about Og inventing the first dance form! As if I actually do any research when I blog! It could've easily been his brother Doh).

However, the art of dancing, forget dancing well, is clearly not a genetic factor. Some people have two left feet. I have no feet left. While friends all around me are dancing to the tunes of the Ultimate Part Album, featuring all the songs whose lyrics I don't know but I pretend to and make up words, I try to dance too. Honestly, I do. The only problem is, my brain cannot move all my limbs at the same time, so I end up looking like I'm having a seizure while my arms keep inadvertently brushing the family jewels of the person nearest to me. To avoid this embarrassing outcome, I often keep my hands in my pockets while dancing, but it always ends up making me look like I'm trying to discreetly scratch an itch down there.

 That's why I prefer discotheques, where it's dark enough to not be able to make out your every move, and I can do the only dance step I've perfected - The Mr. Bean. (To be honest, I haven't perfected all of Bean's moves, just his facial expressions).

The one time I did gamely try dancing, to a Punjabi tune no less, I accidentally stepped on the foot of a friend dancing next to me, enough to draw blood from her big toe. Ever since then, I've decided that in order to spare any more digits of other people from oozing blood and requiring a tetanus shot, it's best that I don't dance.