In college, they offered these dance classes to fulfill our "get off the couch and be healthy" credits. For girls, registering for these classes is like that huge wedding dress sale dubbed "The Running of the Brides." It's always a competition and almost immediately all the slots are filled.
I have this friend, Rachel. She's probably the funnest (and funniest) person alive, and we became friends my freshman year. She and I decided to take one of the classes.
One day, we ate lunch and then headed to class. After starting as her partner, we rotated around the entire class period, dancing with most of the other class members.
Since uncomfortable silence turns me into the world's biggest chatterbox, I spent the entire period yapping without pausing for a breath. At the end of class, I met back up with Rachel to walk to our next class.
When she saw me, she said, "Nathan, you have something in your teeth."
Sure enough, there was a piece of lettuce the size of North Dakota front and center. All I could think about was how many girls couldn't hear a word I was saying because they were too distracted by the forest growing in my mouth.