Serbian men are tall. Tall to the point where my face is ass-height to many of them. (This definitely has its drawbacks.) So, it surprised me quite a bit on Saturday when some friends and I went to a nightclub and saw a bunch of shorties pumpin’ it up. All around us, stunted Serbian men gave it all they got, as though they were each the main attraction to their own one-(short)-man show. I wondered if it was theme night.
Walk into any club in North America and you’d usually see your typical mix of women dancing in their own little circles, guys trying to breech said circle, doing whatever they could to get as close as they can to the shaking, gyrating carousels of female flesh. At Square Nightclub (I think that’s what it was called), all the shorties danced together in their own manly circles, without women. A Serbian man told me today this is because Balkan men are shy. Um? (I can’t write that statement without laughing at it. I just left my computer and came back to it….yep…still funny.) Balkan men have the flexibility of owls in that they are able to rotate their necks almost 360°. This only applies when they are trying to oogle the female form. Their necks are almost completely static when it comes to shoulder-checking in traffic. I wouldn’t say men here are shy. I feel, and maybe this is just me, that they are the sort that want the women to come to them. Here, look at me and my manliness, alongside my Balkan brethren, pumping the air like an invisible punching bag, I’m so sexy. Come and get me baby. And of course, if and when she (whoever she is) comes, he can shout to the world, I knew she would come. Why wouldn’t she want all this? (Insert wave of entire Adidas-clad body here…)
Now, I’m not suggesting that it’s not ok for men to dance together. One of the best nights I’ve ever had was at a gay nightclub.(I was pregnant and dressed as Dog The Bounty Hunter…look that up for a good laugh.) I don’t mean to stereotype but gay men can dance, and they are absolutely some of the best company you can have. And, as a woman, I don’t have to worry about stray paws trying to find a home somewhere on my body. But this was not that kind of nightclub. I may have also been old enough to birth…well…all of them, but it almost felt like we were at a happenin’ junior high dance where there is that invisible line that the boys and girls don’t want to cross because it means you would actually have to talk to someone of the opposite sex. (Hands on hips, now, one-two-three, one-two-three…)
And the napkins! There were thousands of napkins on the floor. No, we were not dancing in my kitchen during one of my floods. These dudes sprayed out napkins out like rappers do wads of cash. Dudes are thinking, gonna make it rain…napkins. Napkins in the air, napkins everywhere! It was like ball drop at Times Square but with napkins instead of confetti. Napkins!
Oblivious that I am, I didn’t see the sign at the coat check that said “Music, Shisha, Drink, Sex.” Yes. Good ole’ SEX. I didn’t realize it was that kind of club, but I probably should have.Thinking about it now, maybe the girls and boys didn’t want to cross the invisible line because it meant the inevitable ‘sex’ that was written on the wall, and they neither wanted it or weren’t prepared for it. Hmm…
I’ve since learned that there are some cool clubs here and I think it’s going to be a bit of trial and error until we find some that work for us. Until then, I think I’ll stick to dinner and bowling.