Disco Jail.

I saw Beyoncé in concert on Tuesday night. She has an incredible voice and amazing stage presence, and as I watched her tiny ant-like form from the top of Citi Field, a thought flashed through my mind: Beyoncé’s career is someone’s worst nightmare.

There is a fairly large group of people who consider public speaking tantamount to a fate worse than death. As in, “Zeus could strike me down unprovoked with a lightning bolt, sending me into the wildly unknown, but it wouldn’t be as bad as having to say some words in front of people.”

I mean, sure. Okay.

But I talk a big game! I say dumb things in front of strangers all the time, and while I do get nervous, I’ve learned to sort of tune myself out. However . . . however . . . I do have a very real fear of dancing in front of people. Actually, really doing anything outside of sitting or standing.

Dancing is a terrifying punishment one could cast upon me. Jail is definitely an unfortunate and often undeserved sentence for many, but personally, being locked away in solitary confinement wearing starchy orange clothes, while I eat food that tastes like cardboard and see the sun only fifteen minutes a day, is what I refer to as “the weekend.”

Being forced to dance in front of people would scare me straight. Because I have no coordination! Or rhythm! And I’m clumsy! And I get confused easily! I can stuff mental cotton balls into my ears when I talk, but I can’t ignore when my feet are shuffling around and people come up to me asking, “Are you drunk right now? Can I help you get somewhere?” and I’m like, “No! I’m trying to dance! Jesus!”

So really, Beyoncé’s career is my nightmare as well, because with all those pop hits, homegirl is obviously expected to get down when she performs. So thank goodness she’s taken care of going on world tours and garnering fame and millions of dollars, so that I can sit at home on Saturday night in my fluoro hoodie and eat rye crackers in peace.

Prabal Gurung for Target tank; Urban Outfitters skirt; Puma sneakers; J. Crew belt (styled here as an anklet); Zara bomber;
Housing Works necklace; Ricky's hair acessories