today, being a Sunday, did not hold much for me in the way of entertainment.
i woke up early and went to church, and got back to my place around mid-day. my friend and her boyfriend are currently visiting me, and my current resume include driver, tour guide and general dogsbody for this loved up couple.
so i packed them all in my tiny Yaris, and off we went to Umlazi, at the local joint of choice, Max's lifestyle.
i'm told usually, during the week, entrance is free. but on Sundays its R30 at the gate for the deck, and R100 for the VIP section.
you'd think this would come with a complimentary cider, or even a loose ciggie, but no, this is just to go in.
now i don't usually go to such places. my ideal outing on a sunday evening would be the local sports pub, feeding coins to the juke box and the pool table simultaneously.
so in we go, and here is Mr..shall we call him X? dressed in a purple skinny pants, a crisp white shirt with pink checkers in the front, tucked in, with a white belt...swinging his bum and crossing is feet in what i can only assume is the new style of dancing.
my visitors and i shuffled to the back, and picked a table, then went to the bar to queue for our drinks.
the DJ is doing his stuff, and the girls are screaming and chattering loudly, in floaty pastel colored numbers, cellulite ridden thighs exposed for the world to see.
i try to tell myself to be my age, i'm 30, by the way. but i realise somewhere between age 15 and now, time flew past and disappeared together with my tolerance levels, as this young madam swishes past me in tribal patterned leggings, tight around a drum of hips, bum and thighs, and i ask myself where her mother was when she left the house.
the DJ plays something she likes, and she stops mid swish, stands up straight, and i swear her bum has a life of its own as she stands tippee toe and commands centre stage.
Mr X is still strutting his stuff and Madam beckons him, without posing for breath, to come closer and the dance gets heated. they coil together, and emulate some more intimate dance and the crowd at Max's is going wild, and i can only gape amazed as Mr X suddenly separates himself from Madam, needing the attention for himself, and does a Beyonce on me!
he drops it right down to the ground and up in one swoop, and goes down on on his arms and one leg, and uses the other to level himself floor side down as he gyrates in an intensely sexual dance that the crowd just loves.
i'm still trying to deal with the fact that just a few weeks ago men did not dance, at least not like that! used to be they'd stand at the edge of the club or pub, and manfully shuffle their feet whilst shoulders bobbed to Tupac's beat. the girls would gyrate and do all the moves.
Not at Max's though. here the guys dance. before i blink, about six more guys have joined Mr X on centre stage and Madam has been overstaged and she has sulked off to her table where she is quietly sitting nursing a Red Ice, watching the man crowd centre stage in a masterful demonstration of Tyler Perry's Madea's signature move.
only this has been enhanced and an extra wiggle has been added to the hips before the turn. all the men are colourfully dressed, in grey sweats slouching low on their hips like unchanged nappies, in flowery shirts and skinny jeans, and a re awakening of the Mohawk, the box cut and dread locks, and i realise the men have become the women and the women have been displaced and they no longer know their place in the game...i guess real men do dance..NOT!!!
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