Tuesday, January 27, 2015
I can't dance
I mean, I really can't dance. I've got no moves. I'm terrified of how I look on a dance floor. You know how people say things like "Oh, no one is watching, just let loose"? Well, people would watch me, because I look like one of those trees found in the petrified forest, just sort of standing there, waiting to fall.
I remember the first time I ever went onto a dance floor. I was 10 and living in England. As I remember it, my sister and I went to a neighborhood dance. When we came home, I distinctly remember my mom asking Suzanne about my moves. Suzanne got this pitying look on her face and said (oh, yes, Suzanne, I can quote you, 45 years later), "well, it was sort of a walking step." I cringe every time I think of it. I imagine all of England does as well. "I say, whatever happened to that odd American?" all of England says, in polite bemusement.
Me, at the neighborhood dance (top middle)
There have been a few times that I've let my guard down, say at a wedding, where I've wandered out of the "Zone of Safety", and gotten too close to the dance floor. People don't seem to understand that I'm dead serious as I pull away saying "No, thanks, I don't dance." I'm very awkward.
Me, being awkward
My niece, Maggie was married on November 1 of this year, and the party was fantastic! Maggie and her husband live in Montana, and a bunch of their friends came. Maggie's friends and family from here came, and Matt's family and friends from Texas came. Every single one of them was fun. Lisa was on the dance floor early, as were most of the people. The picture above is me at that party.
Anyhow, against my better judgement, I started dancing with Lisa (strategically at the end of a slow song). It was horrible for me, much worse for Lisa, I'm sure. 12 seconds into it the song finally ended, but before I could get off the floor, Christine from Montana grabbed me, and started dancing. She is very bendy and coordinated. I was kind of like Lurch on a bad day.
Me, dancing with Christine
Finally, even she realized that nothing could be done with me. I left the floor, deeply shamed, and embarrassed for Christine.
Apparently, Gina from Montana hadn't seen the debacle, and hadn't been warned by Lisa, because she grabbed my hand and tried to drag me out there. This time I was successful in avoiding her and retreated to a corner somewhere where I drank beer and discussed the intricacies of FIFO and LIFO inventory methods (probably).
There is no point whatsoever in this story, by the way.