My first recollection of a dance would be the one which we had way back in grade school. The sixth graders had one, and someone got the idea that we in lower grades would feel left out if we didn't have one as well. I don't know who among us younger students was itching for a dance, but I don't recall wanting anything but soda and chips. I would classify the dance as a failure, with the boys and girls staying on their respective sides of the dance floor for the duration of the event.
Such tentativeness is no longer a problem for me, but I remain cognizant of the dangers that lurk when I am rousted out of my torpor and compelled to dance. Rather than being dangerously free of dancers, the floors I see now are probably all too full of revelers. One must concoct a dance that requires little movement of the elbows and less of the feet. It is a great challenge to be seductive under such restraints, but such is how creativity is best fostered.
It seems to me that the best way to remain unharmed on the dance floor is to subvert the recommendations that would keep you safe in the event of a fire. Above all else, do not get low to the floor at any time. Dancers intoxicated by alcohol as well as one another can hardly be trusted to notice someone dancing down at their feet. Take it from someone who knows: even if there's a disco inferno, don't go low.
Probably the biggest danger is posed by the most frenetic of dancers, the refugee from a rave. No one else is dancing a quarter as fast as she is, and no one can truly hope to keep up for very long. A venerated authority tells me that no matter how attracted one is to this type, any attempts at making a love connection are doomed to crash and burn in ignominy. In the end, isn't a broken heart the greatest danger of all when one strides onto the dance floor?
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