This week’s column is on behalf of all the non-dancers, the non-karaoke singers and the non-party animals: Leave us the heck alone.

I know you think we all secretly want to unleash, let our freak flags fly and strut our stuff. We don’t. I know you think we’re all just repressed and insecure, but with enough nagging you can cure us. We aren’t and you can’t.

I know you find dancing fun and satisfying, so it’s hard to put yourself inside the mind of a person who doesn’t. You think dancing must be fun for everyone. It isn’t for us.

“Shut up and dance with me,” a popular song says.

“But sitting down is so much more enjoyable,” we say.

But we are in the minority, so when we say “No, I really, honestly, genuinely, wholeheartedly do not want to dance,” it’s hard for our voices to be heard.

We’ve had to deal with it everywhere: weddings, parties, school functions. Our whole entire social system is based on these showy activities that, frankly, make us feel like orca whales walking on telephone lines. It’s not just that we feel utterly conspicuous (which we do). We also feel physically uneasy. It’s like wearing a shirt that doesn’t quite fit right — even if there’s no one around to see it, it’s still tangibly uncomfortable.

It wouldn’t be so bad, but for some reason you dancers are never quite satisfied unless we’re dancing too.

Maybe you think we don’t like having fun at all, that we’re just perpetual curmudgeons. Come on now. We aren’t monsters. We find pleasure in a lot of things. Like movies. Movies are fun. Or cake. Or, you know … checkers.

Maybe you think we’re silently judging you, that we’re stuck up or think we’re better than you. We don’t.

… Oh, OK, maybe we do a little bit, but that’s mostly just a defense mechanism because we feel so out of place.

Mostly, we simply don’t care. We’re probably even having fun watching you make a fool of … er … enjoy yourself. Your decision to dance has little to no bearing on our life. We’re all adults here, so feel free to do your thing, and we’ll find a way to keep ourselves occupied. We’ll be waiting for you at the bar, probably.

The same applies to karaoke, although I will admit that karaoke feels a little tacky for my taste. I don’t think I can sit through an entire poorly-belted rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” without feeling a little sick to my stomach. And if you put on “Love Shack,” I might lose my lunch completely. Fair warning.

People especially like to try to coerce me to do karaoke after they learn that I was in choir during high school and part of college. Either that, or, upon hearing I do a bit of singing, they ask me to sing them something on the spot. Don’t. I don’t want to. I’m not a monkey here to perform for you.

But I digress. As I said before, if you want to dance, please do. Dance up a storm. Dance on air. Dance your heart out. But as for me and my non-dancing friends, we’ll probably sit this one out. Thanks anyway.

William T. Perkins is a senior studying journalism at Ohio University. Please note that the views and opinions of the columnists do not reflect those of The Post. How do you feel about dancing? Let William know by emailing him at

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