Not-So-Tiny Dancer
A couple years ago, I went out to a busy nightclub and, at the end of the night, right around last call, a woman approached me and asked me to dance.
It was a slow dance, and she was stocky woman who was rather homely, so I politely said, “No, thank you.”
She grabbed my hand with a firm grip and yanked me towards the dance floor as she insisted, “Oh, come on. It’s the last song of the night. Be a good sport.”
I didn’t want to hurt her feelings so I said, “Aww, what the hell,” and walked out to the middle of the dance floor with her.
While we were dancing close to each other, I took another look at her face and realized that something about this woman was familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
The longer we danced, the more it bothered me because, for the life of me, I just couldn’t figure out where I had seen her before.
Finally, I said, “I’m sorry, but I need to ask you… Have we met before? I have this funny feeling that I know you from somewhere.”
She didn’t answer… Instead, she just changed the subject and began complaining.
“Thank you for dancing with me… You know, you just can’t have fun anymore these days. You can’t drink because you’re afraid of driving home after a couple of cocktails and getting arrested… we’re supposed to “say no to drugs”… you’re a pariah if you dare to light-up a cigarette… and they’re always urging people to eat healthy and lay off all the tasty foods I love, like potato chips and bacon and chocolate. ”
I said, “I know what you mean. There are way too many rules now and it’s making people uptight.”
She said, “Exactly… and the next thing you know, they’re gonna tell me that I can’t put on a little make-up, dress-up in my wife’s outfits, and go out on the town every now and then.”
I stopped dancing and said… “Harvey?”