I went alone to a lame dance class…
Dancing has never been something I’ve understood outside intoxication. I remember being at school discos as a gawky teenager sprouting breasts and putting my best efforts into boot scootin’ baby. But my coordination had never shown up when I tried to play sport, so I’m not sure why I thought it might come to the party in line dancing.
Now as a 29-year-old with ever increasing social anxieties, the thought of even tapping my foot without a drink in my hand makes me uncomfortable. And that’s why I was devastated to hear that No Lights No Lycra, a “casual free-form dance class in the dark, for the pure joy of dancing”, was an event that existed at a church hall near me. Because when I hear about something horrendously awkward that makes me want to kill myself, it’s a pretty good indication that next minute I’ll find myself engaging in it.
