Dinner & Dancing

It was his best idea yet. He would show those degenerate sex fiends online. Those guys were gross. He was going to take her to dinner and dancing. It would be such a success that he would be heralded as a masculine sage for generations to come. It was such a logical thing to do. There wasn’t a woman on earth that could resist a night of dinner followed by high tempo and vigorous dancing. He got online to check for local dance halls. He found one not far from him that played rockabilly music. He would demand that they played Flying Saucers Rock and Roll because the next level shit he had planned was out of this world.

He stood in front of the mirror. For an older guy he looked fucking great. He’d grown into his grey and it was more of a life promotion in his mind now, not a sign of aging. It gave him the authority to tell those younger than him how the world really worked because he knew best. He smiled at the mirror and said, “Tonight is your night, handsome.” He then fired off two finger pistols at the mirror. What a complete and utter wanker.

The Uber dropped them off at the restaurant. He had picked a Mediterranean style restaurant because olives were fucking awesome. She looked hot. If he was the silver fox, she was certainly the silver vixen. If her eggs hadn’t dried up years ago they would have made beautiful babies together. Handsome silver haired toddlers with full faced beards. He smiled at the thought. “What are you thinking about?” she said.

“This is the year for us,” he said.

“How so?”

“Dinner and dancing.”

“Right,” she said and regretted saying yes to this tosser. He spoke in sound bites and really had no fucking idea how to speak to a woman without sounding gay.

They finished dinner and got back into an Uber. He had that stupid fucking look on his face that she had started to want to punch. “You’re really going to love this next place,” he said.

“Great,” she said.

“You know what?”

“This is our year?”

“You got it, sweetheart,” he said and did that retarded finger pistol thing again. He looked ahead at the Uber driver. “Hey, Uber guy. What do you bring to the table?”

“Excuse me?” said the Uber driver, looking at him through the rear view mirror.

“What can you do for me?”

“I’m driving you, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but what can you do for me?”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking?”

“Need a mentor? I’ll let you shadow me for a day. Get you unstuck.”

“No thanks,” said the Uber driver and there was an awkward silence until they got to the dance hall.

They got out of the Uber and he tried to tip him with cash. The driver refused and this confused him. He stood there staring at the car for a few moments until he caught a glimpse of himself in one of the car windows. He did that finger pistol thing again and she muttered fuckwit under her breath. Millions of geriatric ravers were pouring in and out of the dance hall. Every time the doors opened they were hit with a violent and throbbing fart of noise. A few fights were starting in the car park. “What is this place?” she said.

“It’s a dance hall,” he said.

“I’ll be honest, I’ve just eaten a large meal.”

“I know. You must have been starving.”

“Well, I can’t dance right now,” she said.

“NONSENSE! Dinner and dancing!” he said like a lunatic. He took her hand and dragged her inside.

If the devil had opened a nightclub on earth this place would’ve been it. Hundreds of leathered human beings in leather jackets jumped and gyrated on the dance floor in a sweaty combination of pomade, cigarettes, whiskey and shit. Several ravers had collapsed on the floor in an unconscious state that was further exacerbated by the occasional head stomps from other dancers. He was excited. “This place is really pumping!”

“I hate it,” she said.

“I know you ate it. I watched you. I myself prefer a high protein diet,” he said. A couple of people from the dance floor looked at him. He was the only person there in a three piece suit. “People don’t know how to dress anymore. Maybe I should write a course. It would sell a million copies. You should have recorded this. Anyway, let’s dance!” he said and dragged her by the hand like a mother would a child on its first swimming lesson.

“I don’t want to!” she said.

“BULLSHIT! DINNER! DANCING!” he said and they made their way onto the dance floor.

It did not start well. They were both elbowed in the head by a couple of fossilized thugs during a rather high tempo number that he was not able to identify. She had attempted to leave the floor nine times during the song, but he kept dragging her back. He had become demented in his movements and had started yelling out the words dinner and dancing at random intervals. He approached a group of women who were attempting to line dance to the rockabilly music and king hit them with everything he had. They all went over like the bad guys in a Popeye cartoon. He went back to her and proceeded to spin her around and this was the final straw. She projectile vomited all over him. The music stopped and everyone stared at them. “YOU FUCKING IDIOT! WHO GOES DANCING STRAIGHT AFTER DINNER?!”

“Maybe you just need to get unstuck,” he said.

“FUCK OFF!” she yelled and stomped off. He stood there alone on the dance floor because everyone else had given him a wide berth. The smell of vomit with Mediterranean notes drifted into his nostrils. His three piece suit was ruined. He wished he had brought some business cards to hand out to the folks at the dance hall. As he left one of the dancers called him a dickhead but it didn’t bother him because he was at his peak.

On the walk home he devised a sixteen week course on dinner and dancing. He had paved the way for future generations. He flicked bits of half digested olive off his coat and as he passed them, homeless people told him he fucking stunk. He had won tonight and minor details were not going to get in the way of his success.

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