My girlfriends want to go dancing tonight. Apparently they think that because I danced last Friday night that I’ll be up for it again. Maybe my last blog post wasn’t clear on the issue? I mean, it was titled “Mortification in December”. The bitches probably didn’t even read it.
They clearly were not there, and come to think of it, I’m not sure any of them have ever seen me try to dance before. Turns out, to my good fortune, most of the people who were there last Friday, including the guy I danced with, have memories as fuzzy as mine about what exactly happened under the disco ball.
Oh who am I kidding?
If only I had that dress! And that hip-to-waist ratio! And that grace!
I mean Jesus on a cracker that woman can dance. Speaking of Jesus, watching this sort of makes me want to ask the dude why he couldn’t have blessed me with just a little bit of rhythm. I mean I know you’re supposed to dance like no one is watching…but THEY ARE, IN FACT, WATCHING, which means THEY WILL SEE ME when I fall down.
Clearly I have some issues with this dancing thing. Truth be told, it’s more likely that I pulled out moves from this other classic Christmas movie scene:
More Food, Less Pain,
*Bonus! We’ll be with a friend who, while dancing one night, was asked if she was “okay” by a concerned stranger. Because her dancing was just that bad. Maybe next to her I’ll look like Vera-Ellen! Woohoo!