The Dupe

Every once in a long while, the circumstances are such that I find myself out dancing. I don't seek this out, but on such occasions it finds me. I appreciate that it is a useful means of socializing, and that eschewing it is hazardous to my relationships. Maybe it sounds like something I only tolerate, which is partly true, but there are some fun parts to it which even out the exhaustion, the money spent and the many other discomforts.

A good example lies in the fun I have judging others on the dance floor. A wide range of people may be found there. Some are of evident substance and character, and others may not be. This is evidenced by such clear clues as overly energetic dancing, overly elaborate dancing, and any other manner of dancing or success with women that I myself do not have. Anyone doing better than I must surely be employing unsavory, unethical techniques.

A gentleman that I found myself dancing near was doing just that. When all others were just bobbing along to the thumping beat of the music, he was frenetically tapping his feet and doing all sorts of other intricate, very vigorous moves. I resented this. My resentment manifested itself in a transparent display of imitation and mockery. I resented him all the more when I grew too tired to keep it up and he just kept going. It helped none that his hair was all too like my own, albeit a deep brown and not nearly as voluminous.

I don't think anyone saw my mimicry anyway. I sort of was hoping that someone would, but in retrospect maybe I ought to be glad they didn't. Later in the evening a fight broke out, and I don't know why. It involved female combatants if I understand right, and their disagreement just might have come from something very much like the scenario I described. I have no urge to fight over a difference of opinion regarding dancing.