Friday night, my friends and I decided to check out a new band at the Skylark. The band, a "50's Stray Cats" type, was rocking the house. We'd had several rounds of cocktails when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
"Would you like to dance?," said a fairly drunk 50-60ish year old man with his hand outstretched. I checked out the dance floor and it was empty. Not a soul. NO ONE was dancing...no one even looked like they might. We would be the only two fools on display. I contemplated what to do, took a huge swig of my cocktail and matter-of-factly said, "What the hell."
That man had some crazy moves! He would call them out as he performed them too. Ugh!! "This is the move that I call 'the walk'!," as he proceeded to walk towards the band. Well, I understand his naming system. Pretty straight forward! "Oh, you're such a good dancer." Yeah, yeah. Is this song ever gonna end??!! I glanced over at my friends and they are hysterically laughing. I don't even look anywhere else for fear that the rest of the bar is doing the same thing!
As the song ended, he leaned in and seductively said, "We'll save the big dip for later...". Ewwwww!!!! Yuck!! The big dip?! I was so grossed out that I couldn't even say anything. I just showed him my move that I call "the walk" and walked right off the dance floor! For the rest of the night, my friends referred to him as "The Big Dipper" and no one would dance with him.
Dance on, Big Dipper. You're gonna be saving that big dip for a very long time!
