So you wanna go dancing and you’re not sure what to wear?
One of the most interesting experiences I’ve ever had at a dance club was when I went to this continental dance club which was a bit of a drive, over forty miles for me, but it promised an eclectic bunch of people as recommended by a lady who had found her husband there.
I had toned up for the summer and was proudly wearing my short A-line skirt in the prettiest of coral, deep red and other autumnal colors, a dark red scoop-necked little T-shirt top with short cap sleeves. I was ready to party!
It was a Saturday night and the place was fairly jam-packed. Finding my way to the crowded bar I ordered a drink and stood around sipping, watching the dance floor. As it turned out the people around me were somewhat Mediterranean and Latin looking but when I was approached by the eldest of the group, I soon enough learned that they were Spanish-speaking gypsies.
The man who introduced himself to me was an older but attractive Spanish Gitano (gipsy/Roma) and the others were from various Latin countries. He then gave me his business card and said that he did psychic readings, located fairly close to where we were. I said, “oh, that’s great!” and thanked him for the card. He then said that I must also be a Spanish Gitana because I’m wearing the Spanish colors. Utterly taken back, I said no, these are more Italian themed, with their coral tones, so that he got a hint I wasn’t a gypsy or Spanish. But he gave me this quizzical look. Some psychic he was! Besides, he wasn’t hitting on me – he was hitting me up for some business.
Needless to say, I was feeling a bit odd by now and wanted to move to “greener pastures” when my eyes fell upon the dance floor. There was this rather odd white-haired woman, perhaps in her late 50’s or early 60’s, dressed in a pale blue sari, shuffling along and moving her head about as though in a trance. She had this dreamy, frozen smile as though she were in her own little world. Soon a young man, who was apparently dancing by himself, began to dance with her and I began to laugh. I watched her strange antics as she made jazz hands in hypnotic swirling motions. So that’s what it takes…
Looking to my right, where it was fairly congested, I saw some men standing by themselves with drinks in their hands. I made eye contact with some middle-aged man in a sharkskin suit, who seemed to be pleasant and about my age. He continued to drink and I moved onto the competition around him. However, they all seemed a bit young for me. I then looked at the dance floor again. The old woman in the sari was scoring great points – she had two young men dancing with her now. I’d like to add that she was rather heavy-set and not exactly what you would call a looker! But in looking back, I could learn a trick or two from that lady – the thing is to stand out – not to blend in!
After finishing my drink, I placed the empty glass on the bar counter, feeling a little awkward. The music wasn’t all that great either; some continental music that you might hear at a Beerfest was playing at the time. I’d been standing for over an hour by now, and there were no empty tables where one could sit – not even a stool at the bar. I glanced around again and decided that it was time I left. The local talent didn’t seem all that enticing and I wasn’t about to ask around for a dance. Perhaps they thought I was with the old Spaniard, though I had distanced myself a bit and was no longer talking to him. What can I say, I meet the most interesting people but I and my short little gypsy skirt were out of there!