I went dancing last night. When I say dancing, I really mean just moving around to music. When I say moving around, I really mean shuffling. When I say shuffling, I really mean transferring weight from left foot to right foot in an ill-advised attempt to ‘get-down.’ Quite what I thought was going to happen once I’d ‘got-down,’ I don’t know. Discover the inability to ‘get-back-up’ no doubt.
I’m at the age – obviously – when the words ‘get-down’ can still refer to dancing rather than canine instruction. Which also explains my chosen style of strutting – see above. But once the novelty of musical movement had worn off and the pitiful glances tipped into hostile glares, my prancing partner and I amused ourselves by producing a mental Venn diagram of dancing style and age. What we realised is this:
If you’re under 20 you can pretty much do anything you like on the dance floor and get away with it.
If you’re between 20 and 30 and female, you’ll spend most of your floor-time with your arms above your head.
If you’re between 30 and 40 and male, you’ll dance like you did at your school discos. Thirty years ago.
If you’re over 40 and dancing like Beyoncé, you should go home.
If you’re over 40 and dancing like Ashley Banjo from Diversity, you should be ashamed of yourself.
If you’re over 40 and dancing like Fred Astaire, congratulations.
Who’s in the house. Etc.