When did I cross the line between looking good on the dance floor and looking like my mother trying to dance?
I remember—OK, it’s rather a long time ago— dancing with abandon at a party and being aware that I was participating in some kind of ancient mating ritual. You danced with someone else (or you danced on your own while being aware of someone looking at you). And I think—OK, it’s rather a long time ago— it led to more advanced forms of mating behaviour.
Now, whenever I dance at home (which is often, since we have lots of music covering pretty well all genres on various electronic media) my daughters react in one of the following ways:
- The hands go up, the eyes are averted, and the voices cry “Stop!”
- The music is turned off abruptly, so that I stop in mid-sway or mid-twitch
(or, worst of all)
- They laugh helplessly for about five long minutes, gasping for breath, crying and wheezing hysterically, and holding each other up.