A Little Drink...A Little Dancing

I don’t watch Dancing with the Stars, not that I think it’s a sham I just don’t want to be constantly reminded of how uncoordinated I am. I have tripped while walking in a straight line, tripped on many a curb The thought that I could dance, let alone with a partner, seems totally absurd. Consequently, growing up, my two left feet never led to any romancing But I found if you flailed your arms and moved your hips- people called that dancing. If that didn’t work, if I couldn’t feel the beat, even though my heart was filled with dread I’d walk out onto the dance floor, stand in one place and, like a chicken, bob my head. I prayed no one was watching me and secretly hoped no one cared If they did I knew they’d be sending me to a home for the rhythmically impaired. Mercifully high school and college ended and I never got sent away The only time I’ve danced since then was on my wedding day. But I hadn’t improved in the ensuing years so when they finally played our song I held on tight, rocked back and forth and wondered why it ran on so long. *Note to wedding DJ’s: Unless the bride and groom are Fred and Ginger and you don’t want the groom to curse. Do everyone a favor...stop the wedding dance after one verse. As I’ve watched people dancing through the years, here’s what I’ve been thinking The people who do most of the dancing are the ones who have been drinking. Could there be a correlation here? I believe my observations are true. Not only do I dance better when people drink, I look much handsomer too. Knowing this, perhaps I’ll dance again, maybe I’ll be on Dancing with the Stars If I do I’ll put one stipulation in my contract...there must be an open bar. If that’s the case, if a little drinking with my dancing makes the world rejoice Who knows the mountains I might climb...Hey! I could audition for The Voice!