“You must be *way better* in bed than you are on the dance floor.” A friend of ours was not impressed by my skills at her in-laws’ 40th Wedding Anniversary party. We both chuckled. I had hoped that people would just assume my pregnancy was at fault for my poor moves. Graham was probably improving my moves if I am completely truthful. He was hurting my hips quite a bit, so I was shifting my weight. It slightly resembled dancing. But I was surrounded by great dancers, and my lackluster performance was as blinding as my white legs.
I have never been a good dancer. I passed 4th grade PE by excelling at the electric slide. Because the only thing worse than my dancing is my rope-climbing abilities. But in my head, I can dance. I am going out on a limb here, but I think there must be others who daydream about not being sache-challenged. I can hear a song and immediately imagine I am dancing to it…even though the real-life version of me wouldn’t even know where to start. I usually resemble a 7th grader doing the hands-on-his-shoulders shuffle. But a girl can dream about being able to dance and jump and be lifted up into the air.
I am also going to guess that I am not the only person who gets goosebumps during that scene from Step Up when they dance on the roof. I think that scene is my generation’s Dirty Dancing ‘jumping into Patrick Swayze’s arms’ scene. That is obviously an assumption based on zero research. But I can go back in time to being 23 and seeing the roof scene for the first time. The thought went through my head, “I could totally dance on a roof like that. I took dance lessons. Sure, I was a chubby 5-year-old who didn’t even make it to the next level, but that’s no big deal. I need a roof and some dancing lessons!”
I have an entire list of songs that transport me to dancing daydreams. And I am fully convinced that if I had the money to hire a babysitter, I could go pay Channing to teach me to dance. It would be just like the rooftop scene, but without all the love story stuff. I am happily married. And Channing is a pretty face, but I don’t see him being able to change cloth diapers, read aloud G.K. Chesterton, or anything else on this pseudo-list I made about my amazing Dave. I am also 70% sure Channing isn’t looking for a 135 lb awkward woman who can’t dance, is an expert at organizing medical paperwork, and possesses subpar knowledge of how to use a crock-pot. Don’t worry, Jenna, we would be strictly professional.
“Wow! I can see why you have *three* kids! You are a super dancer, Little Missy!” Then that great-grandma winked at me. The stranger from the bride’s side at my brother’s wedding enjoyed our Cha-Cha Slide, polka, and attempts at a waltz. More than five years later, I must be improving.
More likely, she was just the only person in the room without a smart phone…