Miss Grace

Those who know me well know I love to dance. I'm not ashamed of my love for dancing. I've been known to break out dancing in office max, in restaurants, movie theaters and grocery stores. I'm the only one I know who can break out into a salsa move in the middle of the cereal aisle without a shred of embarrassment as I twirl over to the rice and beans section.

Now, while I love dancing, I never said I was wonderful at it. As much as I try, I have no rhythm. I have no knowledge of matching steps with beats. My style consists of wiggling, hip- shaking and butt swishing enthusiasm. Basically, I look like a drunken gorilla trying to become unstuck from fly paper on the floor. However, you can't say I don't have fun.

When my friends Tabitha and Ralph got married, I was swaying back and forth mouthing the words to their dance. As the DJ played fun songs, I sat there wiggling and moving my shoulders back in forth in my chair. When they finally released me to dance, I was out on the floor like they were giving money away. I've embarrassed my husband more times than I can recall. My friends just roll their eyes and ignore my doing the twist in the middle of a Mexican restaurant. Most people simply assume I am "special".

However, I don't usually hurt myself dancing. I'm not that bad. Yesterday is the first day I have suffered a dance injury. I was dancing around my office and shaking it good. I attempted a high kick and went back into my salsa inspired dance steps. To my surprise, my back thigh was hurting. It hurt on the squirrel machine (translation: elliptical machine) today, and it hurts walking around the house every once and awhile.

Did that stop me from dancing? I think not! I wiggled and squiggled in full enthusiasm today. No leg will slow me down. And as I pirouette off to bed, I think to myself: I am the epitome of grace. Just mind your valuable objects, as I will invariably knock them off a table. I am just that good. That's right- just that good.