This was the stage before the Blue Man Group show.
This is key: I read as far as "Whether it's a meal," then I got bored.
About five minutes later, Caroline said, "We need a spontaneous dance party."
"What?" I asked.
"A spontaneous dance party. We need one."
"Uh, okay. When?" I thought there might be a spontaneous dance party at Marcia's, perhaps.
"Sooooooon?" What the hell. Caroline usually isn't this cryptic.
"Maybe soon. Maybe later."
I assumed she was challenging me to a dance party, so I stood up and shook my boobs vigorously. Then I sat down. Then I read the rest of the message above.
[SPOILER BEGINS] As it turns out, the finale of the BMG show is a spontaneous dance party, and you don't shake your boobs at all, your shake your butt / twin hippos / bandonka-donk (I could go it, they went on for fifteen minutes).
While you are dancing, a dozen massive balls float out into the audience ("It's Rover!" I thought when I saw the first one). The Rover Invasion was accompanied by giant toilet paper streamers, small streamers, and strobe lights.
So I looked up into that uproar and shook my ass for a good ten minutes before I became disoriented and fell into the ass of the man standing nearby. And it was a slow fall. Picture it in strobe light. "Oh ... oh, that feels like a seat against my right hip. Huh. I don't seem to be stopping. Oh, here's this nice man's ass. I seem to be lying sideways on his chair with my face in his ass. I'm glad he stood up and danced, otherwise my face would be in his lap, and that would be awkward. Ah, now he's helping me up. He doesn't seem to feel embarrassed."
It was a good time. I was expecting drumming, but I wasn't expecting as much droll humor and physical comedy. Hah. Gary missed out, though to be fair if the strobe lights messed me up he'd be messed up too.