Aside from myself, I know of only one other person who prefers to be sober when dancing. Well, with the exception of any of my friends who don’t drink. Not that I would be caught dead hanging out with a non-drinker. Simply put, I just do not want to fall on my arse on the dance floor. Keeping one’s balance while dancing is also very much a matter of the right footwear. While I own in excess of 70 pairs of footwear, I have four pairs of identical semi-ugly sandals specifically purchased for dancing because they are sexy on top and yet functional in their sturdy platforms and three-inch heel-height. I have witnessed any number of inebriated people at myNightclub™ take a tumble while dancing on various elevated areas of the stage, some who have lost their footing on the stage steps adjacent to the dance floor, and still others who manage to lose their balance on the dance floor itself. I have never been one to laugh at such incidents because, believe it or not, I worry that the person might be injured. Not that I am immune to the old banana-slip-and-fall humour.

I finally got around to having my overdue annual physical last week, which involved much blood-letting and subsequent technicolour bruising [photos forthcoming later]. I asked my doctor if they had a vampire supply business going on the side to which he chortled “Well, it is pretty close to Halloween!” Cheeky bugger! Consequently, I think I was slightly anaemic for the next couple of days. I also had a cortizone shot in my right shoulder because the bone spur residing there gets bored and amuses itself by sending stabbing pains down my arm [think: shower scene in Psycho.] I would like to say that the shot instantly cured the vicious pain but, unfortunately, within a day or two the resident knife-wielder was back in business. Nonetheless, I went out dancing last Friday night as usual being as there is nothing wrong with my legs . . . Since the indoor smoking ban, the club has become much less crowded and it is now possible to inhale instead of having to hold my breath for almost two hours. I had plenty of room on the dance floor and as usual my overactive brain went into it’s dance-induced Zen wave pattern. I was having myself a lovely time when, about 90 minutes into my workout, I felt myself begin to swoon. I had one of those moments [does this happen to everybody or just me????] where for a split-second before it actually happened I had a premonition of what was about to happen. I just knew I was about to perform a perfect rendition of an 18th century fainting damsel. Only without the crinoline and excrutiatingly tight corset — I haven’t worn a corset out dancing for over a year. One moment I was bouncing around enthusiastically and then everything went into slow-motion and it was almost as though I was standing outside of myself watching as I tottered, flailed uselessly for a nanosecond, and then graciously took a triple-reverse-backspin down to the floor.

Naturally, I landed perfectly on target on the bone spur in my right shoulder. It could have been worse though since my feet only flew into the air at about my chest level as opposed to over my head. I don’t think I quite executed a backwards rolling tumble. Did I mention that I was wearing a skirt at the time? A short skirt. A VERY short pleated plaid miniskirt. Thank dog that I have the good sense to ALWAYS wear knickers — versus a thong — under short skirts. At least when I go out dancing. So there I sat on the grimy dance floor for a moment and frankly, all I could do was throw back my head and laugh. Because what would be the point of getting embarrassed?

A moment later I was helped-up by two lovely 20-something girls who each took one of my arms and gently lifted me to my feet. With their arms draped around me, in unison they asked if I was alright? Was I hurt in any way? Just my pride, I assured them. The conversation then took the typical turn to “We see you here every week [insert gratuitous and much-appreciated compliments]!” So I set aside my usual I-prefer-to-dance-alone-boundary and danced with the pretty little ladies for a solid five minutes before I made an excuse and quietly went home to nurse my ego.

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