For the Love of Dancing

Last Saturday, after days of constant prodding and promises of nudity, I finally convinced the Hubby to take me dancing. The last time I've been to a dance club was when Justin Timberlake was still trying to bring the sexy back (which is like three years ago, when I was still in graduate school), and I just felt this terrible need to release my pent-up dance energy. Next to shopping and eating ice cream, I love, love, love dancing! Unfortunately, I married an old soul trapped in a hot, young body who doesn't. Well... at least, I was able to convince him to take me.

So off to the club we went.

A minute after we started dancing, I finally understood. The poor guy can't dance for the life of him! (This is a sort of thing I should have known during the wedding dance. Unfortunately we didn't have one). At some point, I think I might have laughed at the way he danced that he decided he has done his husbandly duty of pleasing me and just stood beside me watching me dance. And no amount of prodding and begging could make him dance again.

But I decided that nothing can ruin my night. Who knew when the Hubs will take me out again?

So I continued dancing around him, oblivious to anybody who might be watching.

And there I was, dancing happily and uninhibitedly, when my eyes came into contact with a guy who winked naughtily at me. All of a sudden, I realized how I must have looked like dancing sexily around a standing pole of a man! I looked around and sure enough, I gathered a few interested audience. Slightly embarrased, I told the Hubby to start dancing or else...

After that night, I came home with two realizations... (1) that it's better to take my girlfriends next time I go clubbing, and (2) that I might have discovered the perfect back-up job in case this Chemistry gig doesn't pan out.