The Wee Dance

I know I've already covered the subject of uncool bodily fluids and the bad timing that usually follows them, but what can I say, it has a lot to be said for it.

Now, if you're a sad person like me, and you think having a good time with your friends is parading around a dark room with epileptic seizure inspiring light shows, sweaty people in skimpy clothing that try to touch you when you walk past, and ear shattering grenade-like sounds some people like to call "music", drinking highly over priced poisonous liquid colour additives in order to actually like the place enough to stay there the rest of the night, you will know what I'm talking about. If not, stop looking at me and keep reading your Bible, little boy.

It's the wonderfully entertaining cultural event that can only be properly enjoyed when it's happening to other people than yourself. It's the wee dance.

You'll see it at night clubs or bars with only one toilet per sex, lines and lines of women, sometimes men (but come on, there's never a line in the men's toilet, bastards), wiggeling, squeezing, stepping, riverdancing, throwing wild tics and tantrums, thrashing and whining, all to keep their lemons intact til that magic toilet door opens. Like fancy shamans from a different world they conjure up the demons of the force of the drunken wee wee relief, like samurai's with no skills or control what so ever, but a very pressing mission. The artform deserves its own music style, something like a cross between Rednex remixed with Enya, you just never know if it will take off in a frantic linedance or end in a mellow hymn to the waters of below.

If only it were a mating ritual, or something useful, but alas, it is an artform doomed to be forgotten with the shady guy in tweed by the bar, who asked you for a dance and a PayPal donation...