It’s a blessing and a curse that I’ve married a man who is a very good dancer. My bonus kids are good dancers too. This means that FedBooHusband and I have had some memorable nights on the dance floor in various cities. He’s full of energy and makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the room, even though, as I’ve said before, this is what I’m working with:
As a kid, I was always the last one to learn a dance, if I ever learned. I remember practicing The Spank and The Smurf in my grandparents living room for over an hour one summer. But I never did get the hang of the Roger Rabbit or the Running Man, which, for an ’80s baby is akin to heresy.
I basically have one move: shaking my hips and making sure I look good doing it. Nevertheless, I’ve danced more with FBH in the 5 years we’ve been together than I did in all the previous 35 years combined. He makes me feel like dancing, what can I say?
At home, my bonus kids get in on the action, and our living room becomes The Club. The kids like to show off their moves, and fall out laughing at their dad and me (mostly me). But sometimes, they take pity on me. Like this text I received from one of them: “‘Teach Me How to Dougie’ just came on…you will learn this weekend!”
I’m so excited! She hasn’t given up on me. My previous attempt at dougie lessons ended up with her shaking her head. But she believes in me, so dougie we shall!
And maybe after that, I can learn how to Wobble (I’m always about 1.5 years behind these dances):