While contemplating with some horror the way the DJ was mixing clashing beats as he changed songs, I saw them: the couple. The couple on the dance floor, gettin' down. Literally.
And though this may sound like it's about to become quite steamy, only in the sense of glazed, glazed with pain. Hip pain.
His shorty was doing her thing, swaying and dropping in slow motion, but as I watched, I began to sense a sort of disconnectedness between the couple. He was standing before her, seemingly enjoying the moment...but was he?
At first I thought the slight grimace on his face was the tough guy exterior popular among dancing dudes-the expression that says "Yeah, that's right, she's my girl, we got it going on" and "I am not homosexual," not that you would even mistake that part because he's much to tentative and off-rhythm. The grimace was definitely there and as I observed, with growing curiosity, it also grew. She was short and as she balanced below his chin and out of viewing range, he went ahead and closed both eyes tightly. This guy has a problem! I thought, is he ok?
Why no, actually. His fist was balled up tight on his right hip, near the socket--he had injured himself in some sort of mishap and any sort of movement was eliciting a painful response. So ok, the guy was hurting, his girl was clueless (completely absorbed in "her thing"), so why was he attempting to dance along with her? Honestly, she seemed quite fine with solo work, but he was also moving in an awkwardly stiff sway-from the hips no less, well, hip, since only one was working properly. It was a slow rock back and forth, leg braced and sticking out. I realized I was grimacing too.
The grand finale of this side-show was his "drop down." While she was waving serpentine, he began to drop lower and lower in front of her, until his hip kind of gave out and he resorted to "embracing" her knees--out of "adoration," and mind-blowing system failure. At this point, I could no longer contain myself and laughed out loud, loudly under the cover of the fat beats booming from the speakers-thank you Mr. Bad DJ for at least the disguise of distraction. I have no idea how he pulled it off, but Bad Hip Boyfriend managed to wrangle his way back up, with the aid of her waist I think (though I'm sure he was cursing her for twisting it so much in his time of need). He actually kept at it for a surprisingly long time, until they walked out, shorty bouncing toward the door, battle-beaten boyfriend dragging along after her.
His leg was the last to exit the building.
No comments:
Post a Comment