Hmph. I still haven’t made a decision on the grand, fabulous shoes I drooled over yesterday. The shopping high has waned a bit since my leisurely shopping trip yesterday turned me into a maniacal sociopath hell-bent on feeling incomplete without a pair of gray shoes. (This is not to say I won’t still buy them.)
Anyhoozle, I was thinking about World’s Best Game Ever that I made up on Friday night. Kim, Madeline, and I were hanging out at my house. The yawns were approaching quickly, we were slumped into the couches, and overall we were pretty pathetic. In order to get the blood pumping, I decided to invent said best game ever. Here’s the gist. Each person rolls a dice. The person who rolls the lowest number has to stand up in front of the other two and just dance to a randomly selected song for 30 seconds. And if the others didn’t think you danced long or hard enough, Mr. Jagermeister was waiting to punish you accordingly. Um, yeah. It’s pretty much the most hysterical thing ever. I mean, how often do you dance BY YOURSELF in front of other people!? But we did it. And it was oddly liberating. Sure, the others would laugh hysterically, but it was thrilling being forced to just let loose.
I don’t know exactly when or if it happened, but I’m concerned that I’ve turned into a bad dancer. I remember in high school cheerleading I was put at the very front for dance routines because I was actually pretty good. Also? I won a Running Man contest in 6th grade. I mean, that SAYS something, you know? I could do any dance, I could release and restrict my body parts appropriately, and I had range. Now, I just hop up and down on a beer-soaked dance floor at the bars. I do the totally skill-less “punching my arms repeatedly up and down in the air to the beat of the song”. Sometimes I’ll do two arms, other times just one. If I’m really feelin’ it, I’ll alternate. There was also a time when I thought I could pop-and-lock. No. Just, No. People probably considered bringing over a wooden spoon for me to bite on.
I don’t get it. I’ve got rhythm, I’m entirely mobile, I’m pretty good at following directions in a song (“Two hops this time, criss cross! Now, Charlie Brown. Everybody clap your hands!” - Yup, real song. Real AWESOME song!) I feel like I’ve got what it takes, Coach. Yet, when the music comes on, up go my arms and down goes any chance of being cast in Step Up: 3D.
I will offer this one explanation. A few years back, I lived by myself. I loved the freedom. I was watching So You Think You Can Dance, and I, inspired by the music, decided that Yes. I think I can dance. So I flung myself around my apartment, spinning and jumping, shaking my, well, everything. I was sweaty and laughing at myself. It was great. And then. Behind the cords of the TV were two beady eyes staring at me. Mocking me. It wasn’t until after I had silently shamed myself that I realized it was a mouse. I screamed. Whether it was the fact that it was the first mouse I had ever seen, or the humiliating feeling that the mouse was laughing at me and judging my dancing, who’s to say? But I screamed, and hopped up on my bed, and never danced like that again.
Maybe it’s like what happens in the movies. Julia Stiles gives up dancing because her mother was in a car accident in “Save the Last Dance“. Channing Tatem gives up dancing (for a second) in “Step Up” because his rep as a tough guy was seriously in jeopardy. And hello? Maureen gives up dance for L.O.V.E. love in “Center Stage” (and because the poor girl just wanted to eat a piece of pizza without the constant fear of having to wear Spanx under her tights and tutu). Perhaps I too have had to make the selfless sacrifice. I shall dance alone no more, lest I risk infesting my home with snarky, judgmental mice. The only thing my milk shake brings…is mice.
However, I’ll make an exception in the case of World’s Best Game. Yeah, I’m dancing by myself, but I’m not alone. My only regret is that I didn't perform my award-winning Running Man that night. Oh well, there's always next time. And there WILL be a next time.