I thought I had outgrown the old (and unnecessary) "Leave room for Jesus" warning from various school dance chaperone's and my Dad. Dad taught me the most perfect way to thwart unwanted closeness regardless of respective strength. Try this with me now. Bend your arm so that it it 90 degrees to your hip. Place your elbow directly on your hip bone. Hold steady. Now have a buddy try to push closer while in typical school dance posture. Brilliant right?
Never did I think I would need this move as a 20-something while out dancing and hanging with my friends. Here we go.
THE TOUCHER - "don't give me no lines and keep your hands to yourself"
Even before I moved to San Francisco I had heard that the Mission neighborhood was an awesome place to head out for dinner, but that I probably wouldn't feel "cool enough" to actually live there. After all, even though I own a pair of skinny jeans and have long been a fan of Chuck Taylor's, I very rarely wear them together. I have my sister LDL and her "toothpicks in a bucket" comment to thank for that. But when I got a tweet/text from an old friend from college telling me that she and her bridal/bachelorette party had finished with their tour of Napa and had moved on to 16th street, I put on some shoes, grabbed my Clipper card and headed out the door. Truthfully, I would have gone anywhere for a chance to catch up with JMH.
JMH and her posse of hilariously fun women were hanging out at a small establishment called Double Dutch. It's one of those places where the long and narrow entrance lends itself perfectly to the crowded bar and then dance floor layout (not unlike Roberts' in Nashville). After jamming out for a while the whole group was in need of refreshments. Since I was getting a bit claustropobic on the dance floor, I ventured out to the bar. While trying to purchase a few tasty adult beverages a member of the JMH posse (and a new pal of mine) saunters over and challenges me to see if I can get someone else to pay. This is not my game. I am terrible at this game. I would MUCH rather fork over my hard earned cash than have to pretend to be interested. But I accidentally made eye contact, my new friend was fired up and thus began the slippery slope.
With our ice cold drinks (paid for by me) and followed by two new, eager young men, we head back to the dance floor. Man in the red shirt had a signature move. It's called "let me see if I can grope you without you hitting me". Since this is a family oriented blog, I'll leave it at that. But it was awful and he did it to everyone. At once point, I was sandwiched between him and his collection of eager friends, saved only by my ability to slip through small spaces like I was coated with vaseline. Also, I have a pretty mean right hook. JMH and the posse thought it was pretty hysterical. I'm sure the distraught and exasperated look on my face was awesome. But alas, the night was ending, the bouncer was escorting us out and our new red shirted friend was sticking a little too close for comfort.
And then, JMH reared back, turned to old red shirt and said "YOU need to watch your hands". He recoiled, confused and embarrassed and then reached for my waist to hug me close. +see beginning paragraph for my next move+ Caught off guard by my swift reflexes he tried again, this time from behind me and told JMH "it's what you girls want. It's why you dance." And then FIRE shot out of her eyesockets and she said. . . .
Well, actually, that's Bill Cosby's line. But you get the point. Girlfriends Unite: 1 Red Shirt Posse: negative one billion.
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