Wallflower On The Dance Floor

As a young lad nothing gave me the freights more than a conga line. My eyes grew wide at the flowery dresses and men in suits who were shaking their conga to Gloria Estefan. Literally, as the procession grew, more unsuspecting victims were picked up along the way. I looked like Edvard Munch’s “Scream” painting as I pulled a Californian, ducking under the table at whatever event I was at.

The thumping of feet had passed me. I peeked my head to survey the damage & smiled, no conga line for me. However, I did feel a certain amount of sympathy for the conga line victims. I blossomed into the most highly regarded of flowers, the wallflower.

Us, wallflowers decorate nightclubs, bridal parties & family reunions from New York to Timbuktu. I have danced a couple times in my lifetime. I shook two hips in Sydney with the Aussie boys. At various graduation, office & birthday parties, I’ve bopped my head back n’ forth. However, the ultimate in cool was line dancing at the Catholic Church’s old people’s party. I must’ve been a cowboy in another life, since I had a swell two step.

These days, I’d rather just hang out with a glass of wine/my signature Jameson on the rocks and watch people. I don’t wanna go on the dance floor. A few weeks ago, something earth shattering came over me.

I love music, and have it blasting while I write & walk. It’s always a must. Walking & listening to groovy tunes always clears up my head & makes me walk faster. However, when I came home from one of my many walks, it happened. This really fun Squeeze song came on “another nail in my heart.” It has this fun uber 80’s beat to it, which makes it quite danceable.

Surprise, I came out of the wallflower closet. Soon, my arms were in full swing and hips were moving. Oh no, I am dancing. There goes my wallflower card, oh well.

Certainly, I won’t be mastering the art of flamenco or the tango. I do allow myself a good dance. Dancing is about letting loose. Even if one is not Fred Astaire of Ginger Rogers, it’s still an art form. The conga line, that’s not an art form. However, to someone out there, the conga line is what tickles the fancy & that’s okay.

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