[From Album #1 – Dean Martin Sings (Dean Martin)]
I forget how many times she tried teaching me to dance, but it never worked on account she thought teaching me when I was drunk was the optimal time.
We were alone and some music was playing, don’t ask what kind of music.
“Alright, just move your hips, not your shoulders. Like this.” And she’d dance.
I’d give it a shot but I just wasn’t up to it, every now and then I’d get it down but couldn’t replicate it for very long or at all. She’d get frustrated, and so would I, and we’d try something else. My legs just weren’t having it, I wasn’t scared to dance, I just didn’t know how and while drunk I didn’t care to learn.
She could dance, a natural, like with so many other things. She knew how to dance to all sorts of music. You would see her dance and figure the wind was just gliding her along the floor, that’s how easy it looked. I’ve seen plenty women dance like that, a few men too, but not me. All I could do was try and fail, but there’s fun in that too so I didn’t mind too much, I was still breaking even. But she would get frustrated with me.
“C’mon babe, you have rhythm, you can fuck really well, I know you have rhythm.”
“Did you just equate sex with dancing?”
“I’m just saying, I know you can move your hips, I’ve seen you do it, it’s sort of like that.”
I said a long and questioning “Sure?”
And we tried again. Thinking about dancing like sex didn’t help much, it didn’t even turn me on. Eventually I just gave up, probably after the fourth song.
“Babe, I’m just too drunk, nothing’s getting through. I’m sorry, I know you’re trying to help and I want to learn but this ain’t the way right now.”
She was disappointed but understanding, who knew my supposed sexual prowess would shoot me down like that. So I just sat in the bed and watched her dance, watched her float and fly across the room until she would finally land in bed with me. Sure, I couldn’t dance when I was drunk, but turns out I had rhythm elsewhere and the bourbon didn’t get in the way there.