I tell myself I don’t like swing dancing. “I don’t like swing dancing,” I told myself, Sylvia and several other people on Tuesday. This was at the Yelp Elite event in Charles Square near Harvard.
It’s not that I don’t like dancing. I love dancing. Ask anyone who’s seen me at a wedding, or in a club, or driving in the car when my jam comes on. I just don’t like dancing with rules. I feel the same way about line dancing, Irish step and polka. Fuck you for telling me when I get to stomp. I’ll stomp when I damn well want to.
But I can’t hear a tune and not dance, so I ended up in the center of the floor against all sense and reason. “I keep dropping the beat,” I said, stumbling back into the one, two, rock-step rhythm. “I can’t hear a 4/4 song and dance in 3/4 time.”
“You’re thinking about it too much,” Sylvia said.
“That’s what I do,” I said.
But the free booze and support of my friends helped. I turned a corner with Yelp this year. Now I can show up at an event and point to half a dozen people I can count as friends. Plus, Yelp events are always a good source of cocktails and flaky, cheesy hors d’oeuvres. Everything a growing boy needs.