Wednesday, January 27, 2010

All she wants to do is dance

On what I believe was day six of the cruise last week, they had an evening show in which during all of the breaks or waiting times, they played super-energetic dance music. Namely, "Jock Jams," circa 1995. (My brother had that CD when we were kids. And I don't have to tell you how unbelievably awesome that was).

And what can I say? Gloria Estefan is totally right. The rhythm is gonna get you.

But there we were, trapped in our seats with the rhythm, getting us. So of course we all start sit-dancing while the 75 year olds around us watched motionlessly in what I can only assume to be envy and awe at our crazy dancing skillz, but that just wasn't cutting it. So we decided to go dancing that night. Because seriously, if the cast of Hairspray has taught us anything, it's that you can't stop the beat.

We entered the dance club with a bang. Namely, all of the sudden you saw a big blob of white people (a big white blob, if you will) overtake the dance floor and boogie oogie oogie till they just couldn't boogie no more (I have a million of these, people).

We probably would have looked slightly cooler had there not already been super-amazing latino dancers on the floor, circling around and cheering for a couple who were evidently the offspring of Michael Jackson and Rhianna. But we were a little less "trippin'" and more "trip the light fantastic" kind of people.

But what we lacked in talent, we made up for in shameless confidence. And by "we," I mean Todd and Jenni Hufford. And by "Todd and Jenni," I mean Todd.

As soon as he stepped foot on the floor, his arms and legs became a big blur of motion. The crowd parted as he swept across the entire floor in rhythmic gusto. He pulled no punches (at one point, I think he was literally doing punches in the air). Everyone stopped and watched in awe as he showed off all his moves. The sprinkler. The fisherman. The chicken walk. The lawn mower. And when he started doing jumping jacks right there in the middle of the floor, we all pretty much lost it.

The man is a dancing god.

I felt inadequate. How could I possibly get out there and dance now that he had set the bar so high? How could I ever measure up?

But instead of giving in to the pressure, I decided to heed the words of Lady Gaga and just dance. Da da doo doo. Just dance.

And dance I did. It was freeing. It was unfettered. It was satisfying. And I wasn't even all that bad. I mean, I was no Todd, but really, who can be? I was, indeed, shakin' that thing like you never did see.

And then it attacked me.

As if in slow motion, I backed that thing up (and trust me when I tell you that I was not the girl to whom New Found Glory was referring while doing it, since she looked good and all)... right into the plastic yellow "caution" floor sign had been placed over a hole in the dance floor (no doubt caused by someone with Todd's dancing ardor).

The sign and my body went flying in different directions and I barely caught myself, somehow avoiding what I thought would be an inevitable landing on my face, dress splayed over my head or goodness knows where else. Then, there was a deafening SMACK as the plastic sign hit the floor.

Cue screeching record sound effect.

Everyone on the dance floor turned around and looked at me, with my disheveled hair and wide eyes. And trust me when I tell you that there is no way to make that look like it was on purpose, people.

And because my new friends are exactly the kind of people I love to hang out with, they all laughed at me. And I laughed too. And eventually, everyone else went back to dancing.

But for a while there, I was the center of attention on the dance floor. And although it may not have been for my grace or dexterity, I definitely got noticed.

Then again, so do clowns.

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