No, but I danced with Old Man *Billy, and that was pretty much the same thing.
I’m not a dancer by nature. I mean I can dance, but I don’t, because it scares the animals and I usually just end up looking like this…
So I’m in a karaoke bar, sitting with my friend Colette while our other friends were out on the dance floor swaying to the slow music.
Billy was an older guy sitting across the room with his buddies, and he’d developed a crush on one of the girls in our group, who by the way, had the patience of a Buddha. When the slow song came on Billy ran frantically to ask her to dance, but it was too late as she was already dancing with the guy she was there with.
I looked up in time to see his sad, wrinkled face fall with disappointment. He hung his head and went back to his table.
A moment later he approached me and Colette and asked if either of us would like to dance. I froze like a bimbo in a horror movie. Colette was the first one to shake her head no, and if I remember correctly…pointed in my direction. He looked at me, with hopeful bloodshot eyes, and I didn’t have the heart to send him back to his friends having struck out three times.
So I smiled and took his outstretched hand. He held me appropriately with minimal body contact, the way a father would, and we swayed to the music. As we spun, Colette came into view and I glared at her, trying to push her off her chair with the power of my mind. It didn’t work, in case you’re wondering.
“I’m Billy.” He says.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry about the cigarette.”
Wait, what? He had a lit cigarette in the hand at the small of my back. I panicked as I realized this had turned into a freaking hostage situation. This is how I was going to die, I just knew it.
“I’m drunk.” He interrupted, his breath smelled like alcohol.
Lucky for me the song ended quickly. I took my hand back and he said “Thanks for the dance.”
Only when he said it, he spit all over my face Daffy Duck style. A few drops even got on my lips.
I stood still with a smile frozen in place, trying not to have a panic attack. My heart was palpitating, my chest tightened to the point I couldn’t breathe and I didn’t want to move my lips in case I would accidentally smear it in. I sat down and felt the spit drying on my face…I could actually feel the hepatitis setting in.
My irrational fear of germs kicked into high gear, so I ran to the bathroom. I went to the sink, emptied the entire bottle of soap into my hands and washed the shit out of my face and lips. I thought about gargling with the soap, but then figured that might be a little extreme, and I’m not one to take things to an extreme. Hahaha…haha…ha…Ahem.
I was looking in the mirror at my beard of bubbles, plotting revenge on Colette and her pointy finger, when I rinsed and realized I had no way to dry my face aside from the blow dryer stuck to the wall.
I cupped my hands to direct the air up to my face and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair was blowing back like those rock stars on the TV. So I started whipping my head around like some kind of head banger, and got busted by a poor girl who just wanted to pee. I’m pretty sure she thought I was having a seizure, I don’t know…she looked scared.
As it turns out, bars aren’t really my thing. Also, I have got to learn to be more assertive. “No.” Lisa. It’s not that hard. Next time, just freaking say “No.”
Thanks for stopping in to read my rant!
*Name has been changed.