After suddenly coming down with a bad case of boogie fever, the 1/3 Herd (aka my roommates and me, as we constitute a third of the group) came to the consensus that dancing must be done ASAP. There is a fancy club/bar/restaurant in the City Center (aka mall) about 10 minutes from my house, so we headed over there to meet up with our friend Ishani, plus Adam and Erik. As we approached the boys, we eyed them skeptically for they were wearing matching outfits, which, as it turns out, was just a happy accident. When we eventually made our way to the club (Erik totally broke the elevator), the door men informed us that Adam and Erik were not up to dress code standards. Men must wear pants; shorts (even matching ones) were not permitted. Erik gave them a sidelong glance and slyly inquired if women could wear shorts. Yes, they said, women could wear anything they wanted.
Instead of racing time to go home and change (we were working on an 11:00 curfew, people) we found a set of restrooms. Brenna acted as a courier between us as Becca and I exchanged our gender neutral Indian pants for their shorts. The guards chuckled a bit as we marched in with our heads held high, breaking no rules (but definitely committing some crimes of fashion). We danced and danced to the rhythmic stylings of Daddy Yankee, MIMS, Rihanna and other artists you may not remember from the mid-2000s. Indians watched our unconventional movemetns with awe and disbelief.
It was a night they'll tell their grandchildren about, the night a few Americans, though improperly clothed for the setting, completely annihilated the dance floor.
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