I don’t dance. This is both to save myself from looking awkward and to save you from feeling uncomfortable for having to look at me.
I recognize there are certain occasions during which, to be a good sport, one should just suck it up and dance, but unless I’m aided by alcohol, I will more than likely refuse to do it and get mad if you keep trying to persuade me to do it.
But there is one occasion when looking dumb and feeling stupid doesn’t matter—when the most important thing is not yourself, when you would do almost anything to please someone else, when that someone else happens to want you to stand in a particular place and jump around while he sings, “Call Me Maybe”—and on that occasion, you do it without complaint.
And, bonus: your two year old nephew would never think you look awkward or feel uncomfortable around you. Maybe if you dance like that at his wedding in 25 years. But now? Just smiles.