Eye Contact First, Crotch Later

My darling friend and colleague will be getting married in a few weeks, so a group of us recently hit the town in her honor. We ate some food, we drank some drinks, and we ventured onto the dance floor.

I love to dance. Dancing is the best. I would die a hundred deaths if I ever saw a video of myself dancing, but I still love it. That said, the dance floor of a bar around 12 AM is just horrifying. And the reason for this is fairly simple: GROSS DUDES.

Here is what happens when you are in a group of females on the dance floor after midnight: You stand in a circle and dance with each other. You have fun. You lip-sync the words to songs and pretend to play a giant saxophone (maybe that one is just my friends?). Anyway, it always starts off great.

Then you notice some creepers working the perimeter of your circle. They stand there, just behind the circle, waiting. They are like lions waiting for one girl to fall off the pack so they can pounce.

They pretend like they're dancing, like they're just out there having a good time, but really they're waiting. Waiting like the creepy-creepertons that they are.

When guys do this, I cannot help but laugh in their face. "We are old!" I want to scream. "We already went through our stupid phase -- you're too late!"

(I do yell this sometimes, actually, but the music is too loud for the creepers to here me. Their ears are too full of beer and what I can only guess is a drunken version of testosterone.)

But at least those guys have the decency to wait for a girl to give them the time of day before they swoop in -- because there are OTHER, CREEPIER guys, who just introduce themselves by way of pelvic thrusts into your backside.

Picture this: you're out there dancing, having a good time, when suddenly there is a body behind you. The body presses into you, like it knows you, like the two of you are close enough to just mount each other with out making eye contact. But then you realize something: this body belongs to a person who you've never met before in your entire life. And he's pushing his groin into you like he's trying to make a screen print on your jeans.

Is this meant to be a greeting? How are women supposed to respond to this? "Oh hi! Whoever this is, great! I am happy to have your strange body rubbing against me. Maybe one day I could see your face and speak to you directly, but for now, this is just so great."

I can't take it.

Ladies, if any of you are approving these backwards attempts at romance, please stop. You should know that these guys are so desperate for your attention that you can demand eye-contact-first-crotch-later interaction. What do you have to lose? The weird slimy dude's smelly gross body? I'd say that's a risk worth taking.

And then, one day, when we all agree to hold gross dudes to a higher standard, they will have no choice but to abide by the new rule. I'm pretty sure that is the mission statement of feminism.

Eyes first. Crotch later.

(Maybe.)