this morning i was all florescent spandex and jazz shoes as i whipped my hair around and rocked bad 80's dance moves while easy lover pumped through the sound system. a-high-kick-jog-in-formation and a-synchronized-sashay later i was doing that weird butt swiper move that my dance instructor was so fond of choreographing. then i woke up. and i realized i was laying in my bed while the phil collins classic droned out of my alarm clock speakers.
you know it's going to be a good day when it starts with a flash back to 80's dance school where young children perform in dance recitals to completely inappropriate music selections. it's raining men? yeah.. i danced to that at the ripe age of 7. while a shirtless muscular guy in his late teens lifted me over his head.
then there were the "dance shows" at my house in plainville. my friend kim and i would put on the thriller album and dance in a manic manner around the kitchen. my mother would enter the room and quickly dash my dance thrash pleasure by insisting i use the moves taught to me by my perpetually leotard clad dance teacher. "i'm paying good money for you to learn how to dance. it's a waste if you just leap and jump around wildly." then i would be badgered and/or guilted into inserting a "step touch" here and a "kick-ball-change" there. it was torture.
but as i lay in my bed this morning replaying this scenario i realized that while i despised the idea of utilizing those moves in my spare dancing time as a child, they could come in quite handy as an adult. handy for a perfectly planned, yet seemingly impromptu, dance sequence while out to dinner with friends. this event will not be reminiscent of a flash mob. the hilarity of this endeavor can only be acutely felt if it is executed as a solo mission.
only the bold will likely dine with me from this point on.
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