How to wear a pink tutu

The only dance I can pull off is the "Funky Chicken". It's my trademark dance that features a unique combination of awkwardness coupled with a supreme lack of coordination. I turn into John Travolta with a few beers, but sober I'm about as skilled at dancing as... well nothing really... nothing, nobody, nowhere is truly as bad as me. But men, real men have chest hair, they sport a scowl and frighten small children with the size of their muscles. Real men don't dig that stuff! Real men don't dance, right? So what am I worrying about? And, more to the point, why would I let Suz drag me, kicking and screaming to a "So you think can dance" show?

I spent last Tuesday night with Suz and a few other thousand people watching the live version of the popular TV show. It features all the usual suspects.

I like nothing better than to proclaim that reality TV, dancing and all that sparkly bullshit just isn't my thing. I'd like to say that I'm too manly - too testosterone fueled to be sucked in by all this gay bullshit. I'd also like to say that I'm not secretly in love with Kherington - shh, don't tell the wifey! But the truth of the matter is that I like watching people dance. I like the long legged Kherington just standing there sure, but not as much as I enjoy watching her dance.

My secret is out. Suz didn't drag my there kicking and screaming. It was my idea! Ah, that feels so much better. I'm out of the closet at last. I don't have chest hair, I don't look mean, I don't have bulging muscles and my chest is as smooth as a baby's behind. I can't even whistle! I don't even have enough facial hair to grow a 5 'o clock shadow after 2 weeks! I mean, I like dance and performing arts. I'm a big fan of art galleries, smoked salmon and truffles. I hate big belt buckles, country music, cowboy hats and bravado.

So I'm not a stereotypical man then I guess. Maybe I'm a man-boy as Jake once told me I was. Maybe even worse... Maybe I'm a... I'm a... metro- *gasp*-sexual? Whoa! That's enough! This is getting a little too close to home! Plus, I know it's not true since the guy sitting two rows in front of me at the show was huge. He had mUsCLEs - he was huge! He was mean and macho. He even had a tatoo! And there were two of them sitting next to one another. It was a big relief. So there! I should feel much better now, right? But I didn't because these two guys were holding hands!

So my manhood has been crushed. First it was spicy coleslaw - now this! But Butch and Benjamin didn't ruin the show for me. Quite to the contrary. It made me smile. It illustrated, beautifully I might add, just how much gender stereotypes are bullshit. So I'm fluffing up my pink tutu today and admitting that I've always wanted to be a Ballerina. I'm gonna wear that pink sweater vest with pride... Like hell I will! HA! Had you there for a minute, right?