I Can't Dance And You Probably Can't Either

I am a terrible dancer. Probably.

I have all the symptoms that would suggest it. I'm tall and awkward, so I can't hide my long lady wingspan. I'm incredibly uncoordinated. I didn't learn how to skip until I was about 8 years old. There is video of me in Kindergarten just stomping in really wide lunges that I thought was skipping. These are my cards.

But I can dance. And I do dance. Because dancing is really fucking fun.

My moves are usually a mixture of squats, hip shaking, some type of "I'm standing on hot coals" tiny feet jumps and terrifying arm flails. You know that It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia when Dee has a dance off with a balloon? Hello, my life. Inside my head, I'm Nikki Minaj mid-Anacoda. Outside, I'm just a five year old stomp-skipping around a church basement.

I dance until I'm sweaty and gross. I dance when I don't even like the song that much. I dance until it feels like I've broken all the bones in my feet.

I hate it when people say that they can't dance. Oh really? You've got a body that moves, right? What those people actually can't do is let go of whatever vision they have of themselves that makes them so self conscious.

Here's the thing: never make fun of the person feeling that music out on the dance floor. Regardless of how totally nuts they look. That person is enjoying themselves. That person said bye-bye to the things that made them feel like they weren't worthy of getting their groove on.

Feel sorry for the people awkwardly huddled in judgmental groups against the walls and the bar. That looks like a prison.

I dance terribly. Probably.

But who really cares? Most of the people you know really suck at dancing too.

Just promise me you'll never video me dancing. And if you do, never let me watch it. It's way more fun inside my Anaconda delusion.

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