Seriously, I Don’t Want to Dance

Seriously, I Don’t Want to Dance

Do you really want David Brent as a role model? 

Why is this world polluted with people who are determined to make me dance? Loud, pushy, abrasive, overbearing, manipulative, overlords of what is or is not judged to be enjoyable. People who won’t take no for an answer. People who believe they have a better grasp of what’s in my brain than I do.

What I say: I don’t want to dance.

What they hear: I pretend I don’t want to dance, but secretly, it’s my deepest yearning. If it weren’t for debilitating fear and self-loathing, I’d be out on the dance floor right now, living the dream.

What I say: seriously, I don’t want to dance.

What they hear: if only there were some loud, pushy, abrasive, overbearing, manipulative, overlord of what is or is not judged to be enjoyable, to goad and badger me into doing what I’ve secretly always wanted to do anyway.

What I say: get away from me you drooling half-wit.

What they hear: grab my arm like a slack-jawed oaf, and physically drag me onto the dance floor.

I am not responsible for anything that happens from that moment forward. I am certain the person who coined the phrase, “justifiable homicide” was just some poor fellow who earnestly didn’t want to dance.

Note: I’m sure when his jaw is unwired, the person described in the scenario above, will apologize to me.

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