My Judge-y Friends

Last night a series of unfortunate events occurred at a great dancing venue while I was enjoying the last live music of the season. There are different versions as to what happened. Let’s just say it involved a few male egos and one girlfriend who thought she knew what was best for me.

As I told Girlfriend this morning, “It’s nobody’s effing business who I dance with.”

“But we thought you were in trouble.”

“In a crowd of 200? I was fine,” I said. “If I am in a dark alley with five guys coming at me, help me then.”

It was a series of misunderstandings:

  1. That I was interested in a tall guy who was worried about me.
  2. That Dance Buddy, the guy I was dancing with was dangerous.
  3. That I was waiting for someone to save me from said dance buddy.

 

And one judge-y girlfriend: that I shouldn’t be dancing with the goofy dance buddy in the first place. That I should be vying for the tall guy.

When judge-y girlfriend had her guy move in with her few months back, it affected me as well. She had been my partner in crime for years. I had gone along with her and whoever she was dating at the time to lots of events. The current guy wants her all to himself. He takes up her entire weekend. I get it. I am happy for her. But what she doesn’t get is that now:

I lost my carpool and my partner in crime.

I now go to many live music events by myself.

I have a built-in dance buddy waiting for me at those events with a spot, a smile, and some goofy dancing. We are friends. That is all.  He has a non-dancing girlfriend.

Drinking also complicates things. I don’t drink, but Dance Buddy and Girlfriend both do. It skews their judgment.

Yes, Dance Buddy shouldn’t have put his hands on Girlfriend’s boyfriend’s shoulders to say something about how Boyfriend had interrupted our slow dance. I’ve seen him do it a dozen times and no one reacts by threatening to fight.

Girlfriend’s boyfriend shouldn’t have cut in on our dance to save me. I didn’t ask to be saved. I didn’t need to be saved. Don’t make assumptions. A slow dance is just a slow dance. Dance Buddy and I know our boundaries.

The fact that things escalated as the 6’,3” guy (Boyfriend) was threatening to pop the 5’,8” guy (Dance Buddy) is where I scratch my head.

What the hell?  Everyone was having fun until that moment.

So when you ask me, Girlfriend, what I’m doing with Dance Buddy anyway, don’t judge me for filling the void with him. You are out of the loop now. You have your true love.

The saving of me from Dance Buddy and the related events that followed sort of messed up a perfectly glorious night.

Some of my other friends say Boyfriend owes Dance Buddy an apology. I am not holding my breath, but I agree.

He does.

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