I’ve never understood guys who don’t dance.  Remember at grade school gym dances, where all the girls stood on one side of the room and the boys stood on the other as the disco ball swirled and the punch got warm and Elton John crooned through cheap speakers?

Well, to the best of my understanding from conversations since that time, most of those girls really wanted someone to ask them to dance.  Usually a prick jock type, but really, anybody would have been nice.


I hear this from guys all the time.  “I was at a [party, wedding, club, etc.] and there was a hot woman there.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“No, I didn’t know what to say.”

“There was music playing, right?”


“Why didn’t you ask her to dance?”

“Oh, I don’t dance (mumbled excuse).”


Really.  You don’t dance.  There’s a hot woman there, music playing, perhaps people dancing, and you can’t politely ask to move around with her for a few minutes.  Okay, pussy.

What’s the big deal?  You ask, “what’s your name?  Moonstone?  Would you like to dance?”  If she says no, throw a drink in her face and storm off.  Okay, perhaps that’s not a good idea.  But say, “maybe later,” and beat a hasty retreat.

But let’s say she’s bored and wants some exercise and maybe even thinks you’re cute and/or confident and agrees to cut a rug.

You escort her out to the floor and move to the music.  It’s that simple.  All you have to do is move your hips and arms a little.  Nobody cares – get over yourself and pay attention to her dancing.

Is she having fun?  Is she barely tolerating you?  Is she grinding up against you as you stand there, frozen, as you stare into space?

Get with the program and read the signals.  And try to shake your booty a little, dipshit.

The songs ends and the next good song comes on.  She will either:

Say “thanks” and sit down.  Probably best you go sit in your own chair, unless she invites you to sit down with her.

Show enthusiasm and keep dancing for the next song.  Keep moving.  Pretend it’s chilly and you forgot a jacket.  Loosen up.  You’re a man gyrating with a chick, fer chrissake.

Take it from there.  At least you broke the ice, moron.


NOTE: Pretty much any way you “dance” is acceptable, unless it’s like Elaine on Seinfeld.  Then you’ll just be the office joke.


FUN FACT:  I did a comedy show at a small bar one time.  After the show, the stage converted to a small dance floor and a DJ pumped music.

I was hyped up after my act and wanted to dance.  AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” came on.  One of the all-time great dance songs.

All the women seemed to be with bigfoot boyfriends or out in chatty packs, so I walked onto the floor by myself.  This was when my hair was a little longer than shoulder-length.

I stood in the middle of the floor and started headbanging, whipping my locks back and forth.  After about 15 seconds, I looked up, and three hot leather-clad babes were dancing around me.  That was fun.


And you don’t dance.  Pussy.