Not Guilty by Reason of Menopause: I Hope You Dance

One of my favorite local bands (The Valley Boys) played yesterday at a nearby park. It was a beautiful day, there was no cover charge, and I'd just bought a funky new skirt, so naturally I went.

I've noticed that when it comes to dancing there are four kinds of people: the "this music is disturbing my napping" people; the "I'll tap my toes while in my lawn chair" people; the "I'll dance if there are at least ten people already out there so no one looks at me" people; and the "I'll stand in front of the stage until the music starts playing and I won't leave until the band goes on break or my knees do" people. Guess which one I am. That's right, the latter.

I don't wait for someone to ask me to dance. That seems silly, like waiting someone to ask me to go to the movies or take recess. If I want to do something, it's up to me to do it. I am not a fan of waiting for anything I enjoy. Not to mention the fact that I've found that guys often misinterpret saying "yes" to dancing as saying "yes" to other things. In my case, marriage. And I've had enough of that, thank you. I dance better without a ring on my finger. Plus, I like to dance around.

Some observers think it's sad to see a woman dancing by herself or with a group of other women and children. I feel so sorry for those people. If they'd look closely they'd see we're the ones with the big grins on our faces. It's the "oh, I guess she can't get anyone to dance with her" crew who look miserable.

You meet the most interesting people out on a dance floor -- or a dance field, in this case. There was the missing-a-tooth guy from Chicago dressed in sweats despite the 77-degree day. He kept mumbling, "Well, it's not Chicago." I don't know whether he was happy about that or not, but the man could boogie and didn't need a partner to do so. I also met a woman who recently moved to Oregon from Phoenix. She managed to get her 10-year-old son to shake his groove thing for a few songs from the 60s. Now there's good mothering for you. A line of four teenage boys who originally stood on the sidelines mocking the lame music, later found themselves actually having a good time despite themselves. They started a conga line and we older folks happily joined them. A women in her 70s with a deep tan and a bejeweled hat that read "Outlaw" kicked up her heels -- literally -- almost the whole time I was out there. She came with a group from a retirement home (they arrived in a large van) and was clearly happy to be out on furlough.

What a great time we all had. I hope you've had a chance to dance lately. And keep in mind, the longer you wait for someone to ask, the less music you'll have to groove to.