You are the girl…that I’ve been dreaming of – ever since I was a little girl…

…Are the opening lyrics to the highly popular and equally catchy ‘Black Kids’ current single ‘I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance with You’ and this – although I sympathise with Black Kids NOT wanting to teach someone else’s boyfriend how to dance – is quite frankly a shame.

Or, is it?

Imagine the scene if you will; you’re full of a kind of teenage giddyness at the prospect of a fantastic night out, you’re a wee bit tiddly from the ‘oh I shouldn’t…but I will!’ shots you were ‘persuaded’ to down and you’ve managed to squeeze yourself into that bargainous dress that, whilst it may be one size too small, it fits (if not snugly – and come on, it also makes your boobs look great and your waist look tiny) and not only that – you’ve managed to bag that guy who was at that club last week, remember?!

So you’re full of the joys of spring and tequila, and you shimmy confidently with your friends onto the dance floor; your eyes scan the room expectantly, you scan the mass of moving bodies and then you see him…the reason you came out tonight – the spectacle that is your current beau in what can only be described as ‘contorting none too rhythmically’ to the music. Ouch. Now, we all know it’s not his fault – not everyone is blessed with such moves as Michael Jackson or Chris Brown – but you still can’t help but cringe a little at the circle of space thats appeared around him and the look of amusement emanating from the group of girls stood watching him.

You have a decision to face – do you approach him, all smiles, and join in with his robot-come-running-man routine or do you leg it to the bar in need of a stiff one? The latter is probably the most appealing option (and better make it a double), but I urge you – go and join him pulling those shapes! He’s having a ball isn’t he? Yes. Does he look like he’s bothered by the sniggering judgement of others? Most certainly not! And so, why should you be? He may think that your moves are the worst he’s ever seen (‘Call that a lassoo?! Check THIS out!’) and without the help of the Black Kids, you’re both doomed. But what if the Black Kids DID want to teach your boyfriend how to dance with you…

Would it be better to have a beau who could do a killer MC Hammer, but with the knowledge that all the girls in the club were checking him out, making a mental note of the way his arms flex when he does the robot? Or would you rather be the partner in crime of one respectably good looking yet disastrously out of time two-stepper? The latter is synonymous with fun, laughter and self deprecation; no questions as to whether that’s a good mix. It’s a yes.

So, in actual fact, you should thank Black Kids for not teaching your boyfriend how to dance with you…And as the lyrics say, ‘He’s got two left feet and he bites my moves’, and I thank my swollen and bruised feet that he does.