Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Open Letter to the Dudes at the Club

The story of my life.

My girlfriends and I go away one weekend a year to have fun at the beach.  We lie out in the sun, go out to dinner, drink margaritas, talk about our husbands and kids, and giggle and act silly.  And we go dancing. 

There’s not much more I love than going dancing.  I’m not the best dancer outside my mind, but man – when I’m on the floor, you’ll have a hard time convincing me otherwise.  It’s my favorite aerobic activity besides watching Mad Men.

The only problem is that sometimes the men who dance with us in the club have very bad manners.  I don’t mind a little attention, but it can be a little annoying.  We are all married, have children, and aren’t looking for boyfriends.  We are there to dance.

I acknowledge that a dance club is not the best place for a bunch of married women to hang out if they don’t want to be accosted by men.  Alas, there aren’t many Married Women Only dance clubs, so we make do and go to the most popular place around, which is usually filled with singles either looking for love or one fun night.  Invariably, we are mistaken for single women looking for one fun night by the non-detail-oriented men (Hello, wedding rings!!) who hit on us. 

This following is a letter I’m working on to address some of the problems we face when escaping Mom World for a few hours of thumping music and energizing crowds.  I’m going to post a copy in the men’s bathroom of each dance hall.  Look for it.

Dear Dudes,

First of all, let me say that you are all looking very clean-cut these days and I appreciate the care you all have taken with your appearance the last few years.  There was a time in the not-so-distant past when it looked like soap was in shortage, and I’m glad that time has passed.  I’m also glad to see that plaid has made a comeback – I haven’t seen so much of it since 1995.  Thanks for bringing it back.  However, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention a few things to be addressed for the future.

First of all, this new getting-to-know-you move of backing up into my groin area with your buttocks, or gyrating your own groin into my buttocks, is unwelcome and confusing, not to mention unsanitary.  We are human beings, not dogs.  If you’d like to dance with me, please ask me with your voice and not your gyrating genitalia, so I can reject you with words instead of an empty beer bottle between your cheeks.  That’s embarrassing for you and me, but mostly embarrassing for you, and funny for me.

This lying about your age nonsense.  I am not a casting director.  You say you’re 30 but you graduated from high school in 1988.  I can already tell that you’re not a genius.  You’re either lousy at math, have the worst memory ever, or you think I’m an idiot.  In any case, your receding gray hairline is calling you out.  Just tell the truth and we can talk about our favorite Depeche Mode song.

When I tell you how old I am, the shocked reaction will only flatter me so far.  After seven or eight minutes of “I can’t BELIEVE you’re that old!!” I get a little testy.  I may be approaching middle age, but we aren’t living in the Middle Ages.  Adults can now live well past their forties.  Get over it.

Do not touch me.  If I wanted to be groped by men, I’d have brought my husband and sewn TV remotes all over my clothing.

I AM NOT GOING HOME WITH YOU.  I made that clear when I told you that clever story about how I was not going home with you.  Stop asking already.

Wearing a fake mustache in the club is hilarious, charming, and a good ice-breaker.  Spilling your entire drink down one half of my body and into my shoe is not any of these things.

If you want to chitchat, a) don’t smack my butt at the end of every sentence, and b) lay off the liquor so you can form actual sentences.  And let me go ahead and add c) don’t get into a bar fight in the middle of our conversation.  I didn’t hear you say what college you went to when that bouncer was shoving me aside to tackle you and your friends.

Stop farting on the dance floor.  I know it’s you, and you are gross.

That highlights most of the problem areas we experience.  I know it’s hard to correct bad habits, but with some work I know you can do it.  If you start now, maybe next time we can all enjoy ourselves a little more. 





  1. Andrea, this was a hilarious read. Thanks for sharing it.

    Joe Zlomek, Managing Editor
    The Sanatoga Post
    (Graduated high school 1973. Happy to "be that old.")

    1. Thanks Joe!

      I didn't even have to make any of those situations up. All true. And unfortunate.