My dear friend Sandra was celebrating her 28th birthday last nite, so after rehearsal, Amy, Peter and I went to get a few drinks with her and some mutual friends. After an enthralling jam band reggae extravaganza, we decided that we would go salsa dancing. Clearly, the females all agreed that it was an excellent idea…Peter, however, was a bit harder to convince. He kept saying things like “I really can’t dance” and “I swear I’m going to pull a muscle if you make me salsa”.
But we didn’t believe him. And that’s where things went horribly, horribly wrong.
It only took Peter a beer and a bourbon (not exactly a cheap date, but hey, I’ve had worse) to work up the courage to step out onto the dance floor. None of us could have been prepared for what happened next.
Suddenly, Peter seemed to think he was some sort of latin god. He was shaking his butt like an epileptic and speaking Spanish at the level of a 2nd grade boy with ADHD. It was horrible. And he wouldn’t stop. The dance floor cleared because of how obnoxious he was being. Peter, however, seemed to think that the crowd was impressed with his moves…so he danced harder. And stronger. And faster. Oh, and twice as bad.
Then, everyone started asking me and my friends if he was with us. We didn’t know what to do so we just said “we met him like, 5 minutes ago. He’s a total freak though right?” That seemed to help our situation.
Long story short, Sandra’s birthday night was ruined because of Peter’s latin outburst. I mean, I still like him and everything…but that was ridiculous.
-Eliza
ps. I have included a picture of the night. Peter really let himself go.
