dancing

Another night out to blow off steam. This month has been stressful because my roommates (who are my family here) and I are broke. I’ve pretty much been broke for the past 3 years but never to the point of financial instability that I am at now. Never to the point where I’ve personally had to borrow money to ensure that I have somewhere to live. So dancing was a welcome relief.

At first the plan was to go to "reggae night" at a different club a little bit out of town, but in order to do that we had to be there by 11 so we could get in free. That didn’t happen. We ran around like headless chickens, trying to get ready in time. Showers and time spent in front of the closet were too much of a luxury so I just threw something on and my roommate simply put on a pair of jeans. She was going to change her top too but I stopped her. “You look gorgeous in that top.” It was a sleeveless top with a high neck and funky-colored geometric patterns ran across it. A hole at the top of the chest showed off just enough skin to make it fancy and the ensemble fit her like she should have been born in it. “Why,” she responded, half-teasing, half serious, “are you afraid I’ll put on something slutty?” I shouldn’t have showed her my last blog about clubbing. “Of course not,” I answered, and meant it.

I stand in front of my wardrobe and pull out the tried-and-trusted combination of a pair of jeans and a sparkly top. I feel good in it, it’s comfortable and it’s safe.

Safe?

Safe from calling too much unwanted attention to myself in the club. There is always the need to fight off intoxicated men who think that your body belongs to them but this outfit does not “ask for” any extra notice.

It keeps me safe from unnecessary attention as I walk to and from the club. It keeps me relatively safe as I stand outside getting a breath of fresh air by myself. When the bouncers throw a drunk and obnoxious guy out of the club and practically at my feet I can comfortably walk around him toward the door, paying no attention to his comments.