Scottish Deep Thoughts

One of the teachers is retiring so there was a party for her last night at the school. I ended my impressive (or sad) streak of returning to school after hours at 3 times this week! The party was OK, but I left early. I didn't feel like dancing and could feel that I was an easy target for drunk female teachers looking for dance partners. With a tinge of purple on their teeth and a glint of schadenfreude in their eye, these middle-aged Scottish dance enthuisiasts attempt to drag the reluctant Canadian to the dancefloor.

"C'mon, Mike. You look like you need to get up and dance."
"ach, no. I'm fine. Really. I'm tired. I don't know this dance."
"That's ok. I'll teach you."

At this point she grabs my hand with a rigid grip. I now have three options: get up and dance; act like an 11 year-old boy who still thinks girls are vile, germ-ridden beasts and desperately try to shake my hand loose; or gnaw my arm off and escape.

"No, really. I don't feel like it."

Others around the table join in to persuade me up, as if I am almost at the end of a grueling marathon, struggling to cross the finish line. Bastards.

"ugh"

I admit defeat. My fearless conqueror struts to the dance floor, towing me and their indestructible sense of self-satisfaction. To them, this noble act has helped me enjoy the evening. To me, they have only added to my discomfort and misery. I suppose it's not that bad, but I didn't feel like dancing the Canadian Barn Dance last night.

While "the speeches" were made I had frightening vision of a year and a half into the future. I had images of being subjected to the same ordeal during my going-away party - games, food, mingling, drinking, speeches and dancing. I'm not into that. I'm gonna leave a nice card with that classic high school line: "Have a good summer!". Maybe a few people will meet me at the pub.