Dancing but not with the stars.

I’m feeling tired lately. I suppose the novelty of starting a new job has worn off. I’ll have to rest on my two days off so I don’t burn out. But I was up for going to a dance last Saturday night. I went with my school friends and it was Rhiannon’s dad’s turn to give us a lift and mine to collect us. The dance was on the other side of town and as there was no alcohol we were able to go.

I got pretty excited as we got closer and we giggled amongst ourselves in the back about how many dances we were going to be offered. It wasn’t really a competition though we bet on who would have a date tomorrow.

Wow, it was packed with heaps of girls but also a lot of guys who looked really young and whom we weren’t interested in. We wanted a guy who had a car or a panel van all decked out like a bedroom. Not that we were going to go all the way, it was just cool to be seen driving around with a guy with a van.

We lined ourselves up like in a firing squad and waited for the inevitable. The music was pretty loud so that was a good excuse to go outside to talk.

One by one we were invited to dance though I had to get pimply Bruce, (not his real name). We jigged around and when the song changed we went outside to talk. His pimples looked even worse outside. But he had a van and he lived near me though I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. He asked me if I wanted to see his van so I said yes but I didn’t get in. We were told at school that we girls had to be doubly strong because boys were weak. He tried to kiss me but I pushed him away and went back inside. I just wanted to dance, not get into an embrace, especially with someone who had pimples – I might catch something.

Nobody asked me to dance after that – it was like I had the plague. My friends eventually joined me, with their partners, and we had a soft drink together. As they didn’t work on Sundays like I did, they were going to the beach together tomorrow. I have all the luck.

By now it was nearly midnight and I didn’t have anyone dancing with me. When my step-dad asked me how was it, I complained that I only got a pimply boy, though he did have a van. Was I giving out the wrong vibes as I waited like a wallflower to have a second dance? That’s two parties in a week and I’m still alone, and tired.

Sunday trade was slow and Mr McKenna told me to have an hour for lunch. Was I coming down with something? Life, I thought. Is there nowhere I will feel energised with a purpose in life besides my TV and a car? I would really like someone in my life to share some good times. Work is becoming boring and I’m feeling depressed again. I think I’ll see my doctor and ask for help.



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