On one of the writers' websites I frequent, a fellow was bemoaning an upcoming ball he had to attend (he doesn't dance; neither do I, but not for lack of trying). Anyway, this is the advice I posted. I hope it works...
My sure-fire way to insure a fun, stress-free evening:
First, put on your snazziest rental monkeysuit (tuxedo, to the uninformed). Place a white, ironed, tricorner handkerchief in your breast pocket. Then on your right foot place a black, highly polished dress Oxford. Finally, on your left foot wrap a large ace bandage (use plenty of toothed clamps to hold it; you're going for effect).
When you arrive at the party, make it a grand entrance (a top hat and cane will help immensely). When asked about your injury, speak in an offhand Ronald Coleman manner (assume an arch tone; you are, after all wearing a tux). "This? Why it's nothing, old sock. It's just that earlier this evening I happened to encounter some ruffians who were attempting to separate an elderly man from his cash. What? Oh yes, I thoroughly trounced them...ten years in the Coldstream Guards, you know. I daresay those worthies will be using their time in lockup to reconsider their choice of careers. Does it hurt? A bit, but nothing like the injury I suffered that time in the Somme fighting the Hun. That was a rum go, let me tell you! Entrails and tree limbs flying everywhere! A brandy? I'd love one. Thanks ever so..."
You'll be the hit of the ball. And you won't have to dance. Not one step.