Dance like you’re Carla

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I have a good life.
I know I do.
The spoon of privilege landed smack in my gob.
Why?
Because I’m a white woman.
An annoying white woman.
The acronym for that is, “Aww”.
Which is true; because if you bung a gaggle of us around a new-born baby, or Ryan Gosling’s instagram account, that’s exactly what we’ll say:
“Awwwwwwwww!”
Actually, if you show us Ryan Gosling’s instagram account, we’ll say
“Fuck me! He’s fit! I’d like to show him 50 shades of whey-hey”. But potato / patato.
But even though I’m a fully fledged ‘Aww’, sometimes shit gets me down.
The ups and downs of everyday life can take their toll.
I can be in a sea of people and yet still feel adrift.
That’s been my boat recently.
It felt like I took a wrong turn somewhere, and that somehow, I’d ended up in shit-creek.
No matter how I hard I paddled, I still felt alone.
Suffice to say,  when anyone feels like this, life feels a bit crap.
But tonight, I was obliged to go out with friends.
Let me be clear:
I did not want to go.
I wanted to stay home and throw a pity party for one, feel morose and spoon nutella straight from the jar.
But as Elizabeth Taylor said:

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So instead of a date with pureed chocolate goo, I accompanied my friends to our local pub, the ‘Fox and Fuckwit’.
I live in the suburbs, so our local boozer got caught in a time warp, although it’s less Rocky Horror, more 1980s bad rock and mullets.
When we arrived, ‘Living on a prayer’ was blaring out of the sound system and my hopes of dancing my cares away faded quicker than Josh Duggar’s hopes of getting out of his latest shit storm unscathed.
However two gin and tonics later, suddenly dancing didn’t seem like such a ridiculous idea.
Whilst dancing (yup, just the four of us) another lady joined the small dance floor.
I watched her out of the corner of my eye.
She danced with jubilation. With the thrill of being alive.
So what if the music was cheesy? She danced without a care in he world.
I shimmied over to her. Curious about her story.
Her name was Carla. Turns out she had arrived in Canada, from the UK, just six weeks before. She had fancied a dance on a Friday night, but with no one to go with in her new city, she went alone.
That take balls.
Or as this rad dame would say:

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Watching Carla dance so free and uninhibited, was inspiring.
So to all the Carla’s of the world, I salute you.
We all need a little bit of your chutzpah in our soul.
To dare to dance, just because we want to, even if that means we’ll dance alone.
By the end of the evening, the cheesy tunes were still spinning, and thanks to my friends and Carla I felt like my groove was coming back. Shit creek didn’t seem to reek as pungently as before.
And I’m sure serendipity had fuck all to do with it, but the last two songs playing, as we left the ’80s vortex, were two favourites from my teenage years:

Songs that reminded me of my misspent youth, dancing in an equally cheesy Venue, with my friends, all of us with the same exhilaration as Carla.
I don’t like getting all moralistic, this is a blog post not an episode of Sesame Street. But like it or not, life is always going to have ups and downs, shits and giggles. But whether your problems are man-made or aww-made it does you no fucking harm at all to find a little light relief, by dancing as though no ones watching.