Feed a cold, starve a dance fever

No matter where T goes, there’s always some random guy hanging around drooling over her. Or two. Most of the time she feels flattered but not interested. Enjoys their chit chat and thanks them for the drink. Moves along. I’ve seen it happen and it’s quite fascinating. Reminds me when we were teens with our big hair and tight jeans at the roller rink. Guys always flanked her and flattered her. Bought her Slurpees and licorice.

So when T feels a spark of interest in return, it’s time to pay attention. Except I didn’t. Pay attention that is. Lost track of her one night while out dancing at the club. Which is when she met a guy who made her stomach flutter and flip. Either that or it was gas from the chicken tacos.

The next day, she asked what I thought of him. I couldn’t remember anything after that third shot of tequila and don’t recall even leaving the dance floor so I listened as she regaled me with his finer points: how attractive he was, what he did for a living, where he lives, how he’d already texted her to say how nice it was to meet her.

Dang, the guy sounded too good to be true. You know what they say “if it walks like a duck, watch out for its poo on the golf course.” Or something like that.

So I had to meet him again for the first time - check him out for my BFF. Give the official “you’re right, he rocks!” thumbs up and wink wink.

My first impression of him was that he was he was kind of a tool. The things coming out of his mouth at a cocktail party I was hosting reminded me of a four year old asking his mommy if the heavyset lady next to her was pregnant. But nothing surprised me more than when he started dancing. Oh yeah.

Apparently Mr. Slick likes to dance. And by dance, I don’t mean the way most men in their late forties dance, you know they type. They cluck their arms and step back and forth, their upper teeth gripping their bottom lip. You can hear them silently counting out beats of four.

Oh no, Mr. Slick is the other guy. The one who unbuttons his shirt and runs his hands through his hair, shakes his hips and reaches out to a chick nearby compelling her to come forward. When he started dancing on top of my raised fireplace, I thought at first he was making fun of someone. My guests all gathered around and watched him go. I sorta puked up in my mouth.

T was not amused. Started seeing him a little differently after that. And by differently I mean she wouldn’t go dancing with him. By the time I finally could give my thumbs up that he didn’t completely suck, she had seen enough. She’d enjoyed his chit chat and thanked him. Move along.

She discovered that even attractive, successful, and charming men can have flaws. But she learned what flaws she could live with as a suddenly single gal over 40 and decided she didn’t need anyone who would unleash his mortifying dancing moves on an innocent crowd. “If my pre-teen son saw that, he might try it. It’s like drugs, just say no.”

I agree. The Mr. Slicks out there can move to their own beat if they choose, but choosy mothers must choose wisely.