I once again ventured to the ECC this lovely fall evening, this time in search of '80's night, meaning Prince music and poor dancing. And by poor dancing, I mean my own. I can't dance. In fact, I would venture to say I may very well be the absolute worst dancer in the history of rhythmic movement. I have no rhythm. Nada. "Oh, you're just being modest [read insecure]," some may say, but those are the people who haven't seen me dance. It's like a car wreck--decidedly awful, but they can't stop gawking at it.
Trust me, give me a beer and a half and I'll juke and jive all night. Then you'll probably vomit just slightly in your mouth [have a sour]. If the dancing persists, those chunks are hittin' the floor, baby. Yes, my dancing is that bad. Promise.
But anyway, I was at the ECC, dancing and making other people leave in disgust, when two moderately unattractive couples came in. I'm gonna say they were 16 years old or so, for the story's sake, but in reality they make have been 18+. Anyways, these two barely pubescent couples come in, do very little dancing at all [probably having seen me from the street], and then head for the couches to profusely make out. I think they came down just with the couches in mind. No 80's, no dancing, just Girls Gone Wild ECC edition straddling and tongues inextricably tied together, with the occasional look-over-the-shoulder-at-your-also-obnoxiously-lip-locked-friends.
I instantly had a sour. I guess fair is fair, after all.