Dancing the Night Away

Recently I went out dancing with a friend to an old school new spot that was near my house. I thought I was lookin’ cute, ‘cause, you know, my middle ring is disappearin’ cause I stopped eatin’ so much, so, okay, I was looking hot, dammit! I had on a nice halter top, a white skirt, black heels, lotion and a smile. Puh-leaz. I was cute.

Anyway, me and my girl got a table and sat down, since there were only 10 people there when we arrived. After about 40 minutes, we decided to leave, then the guys at the door convinced us to stay by feeding us. Big surprise, the black girls stayed. So the music got better and this skinny dude came over and started talking and eventually sat down for a loooooooong minute. We hung out for a while and then I wanted to dance. He danced with me for a while, I mean after all, he was my man by then, damn. To shake him, I started making the rounds, asking other guys to dance.
I got turned down 5 times in a row. I immediately headed for the bathroom! Oh my goodness!!!
I was humiliated. I stared at myself.
What the HELL??
What was wrong with me? What the hell was wrong with them? I was damned hot and I didn’t even have boogers in my nose, either. I wiped the sheen off my upper lip and ignored the scared, snarky mini-me that popped up on my shoulder telling me I could have lost five more pounds had I not eaten the whole box of Mike& Ike’s and Hot Tamales last week. I pretended to flick my hair and knocked mini-bitch into the overused club toilet and used my shoe to flush her bad news bringin’ ass down the drain.

Before I left the bathroom I washed my hands and added extra lip gloss for encouragement. It's always helped before.
Then I sashayed back to the dance floor where there were these cool retro seats like huge upside down red ring holders. I sit down and wait for a good song.
Then this lady hits the dance floor as I get up. She's a petite black lady, short hair, wearing a white skirt, 3 inch silver heels, energy for days and she's stomping around dancing funky, stooping down--legs open, she’s holding her skirt closed then getting up, jumping on one foot, smiling, marching around shouting, FUCK 'EM! LOL
She was shouting to all the guys who wouldn't dance with us amazing Femme Fantastik women. FUCK 'EM!
Let me tell you. We cracked up! Turns out it was her 50th birthday! Nobody could believe it. She looked like she was 30. Young, old, fat, skinny, it didn’t matter, women hit the dance floor. All night until I left at 2:30 AM, we partied our butts off. It was funny to see younger girls of all races coming in the club watching and laughing at us, as we danced, rapped to the old school music. Then they got up and partied with us too! I'm tellin' you, it was a night to remember. I partied hard, and if a man asked me to dance, I was likely already on the dance floor. The men I’d asked to dance, never danced. They held up the wall all night long, and for once, I was glad it wasn’t me.

Despite the men, we had a ball. Femme Fantastik is the phrase for all women. It was wild to meet women over old school music; to sing, dance and know that even though there were men within our reach, they were still waiting for something a little bit better than us, and we were still on the deepest level responsible for our own happiness. To be fair there were men out there with their women and even a couple men who danced alone. But eventually they had dance partners because by then it had become one big party where we just had fun.

To many happy days ahead!

Carmen