I don’t want to share the Date a Girl Who Dances essay that’s on both Thought Catalog and Buzzfeed, but I do want to say it reminded me of 2004, miserable about Madame Butterfly, but kilig about how it was like he was discovering this new species – the spring in my step, the ropes of muscle in unexpected places, the enormous stomach capacity, the refusal to dance in a club, how my hip bone jutted out and he’s never seen that before, and yes, the way I picked up things by bending at the hip. He stared, oh wow, did he ever stare. Of course I was going to love him, I had a captive audience who was going to applaud each time the music ended.
But it’s not easy to date a girl who dances. You have to be constantly dealing with her paranoia of gaining weight; he dealt with it by befriending the Bloat as if it were a person and delighting when it came to visit. You have to wait for her to come out of rehearsal and she’ll want to sleep early on the weekend because she gets up early to teach baby ballet; he had heavy metal nights on Saturdays and playing DnD with his high school friends. You have to deal with her unending doubt of herself and what she can do. He was very patient.
I guess my point is who is this essay talking to? It can’t be just anyone. If you decide to date a girl who dances, you must be pretty special, yourself. None of this delighting in your asymmetry crap. And I think people always do get goosebumps when they hear their beloved tell them goodnight, anyway.