Shimmy-Shimmy

The only dance move I can properly execute is the ‘shopping cart’, and even with this one I morph into a spastic flailing freak complete with a wicked groovin’ overbite. I will also on occasion shout out an ‘oh yeah’ (like the Kool-Aid guy who busts through the wall) or a ‘whoo-hoo’ right before the chorus. It's like a disease... I am completely unable to control my body or contain my hooting. In the past I have made attempts to bust out different moves from my internal dancing arsenal. I took ballet as a young girl and as a teenager I considered myself a committed fan to Monika Deol and Electric Circus. Back then I was young and impressionable, something should have stuck with me... but nope.. I just can't seem to get my swerve on.

One of my best friends Nicole, besides being a jaw-droppingly beautiful girl, is a total dance machine. It seems reasonable to me that because we go out together, we should be shakin our money makers together as well. Either she really loves me, or she enjoys my idiocy because with me beside her, in comparison she looks like a finalist on Dancing with the Stars. I have pulled her down to the floor on many occasions after losing my balance trying to do that twisty-type move that seems to really compliment AC/DC's classic "You Shook Me All Night Long", I have accidentally shoved her into other people spilling their drinks and I even hit her once... square in the face with one of my wildly thrashing arms. I think I may call her tonight and apologize. Again.

I think more songs that have standardized dance moves should be introduced. What is the problem with the Macarena or the Bird Dance? With those dances, everyone has an opportunity to trip the light fantastic without feeling like Elaine from Seinfeld. I suppose the question I am asking myself is why do I keep trying? I mean sitting here on my couch I am aware and cognisant of the fact that the strangers (along with the people I love and adore) who are smiling and laughing at me while I'm on the dance floor are not expressing their joy at my gracefulness but when I am out, with my friends and Mr. Jack Daniels, I just can't control myself. I feel like the pull to the stage is too much for me to resist. In my head, the disco ball is spinning just for me and the crowd is chanting, "Leona, Leona, Leona" and it is like... my human duty to go out on to the floor, spank those planks, and fill my rightful spot on everyone's dance card in only a way that an uncoordinated, over-bite donning, shimmy-shimmy shopping cart pushing white girl can. You're welcome.