Thursday, September 10, 2009

So you think I can dance

It is a well-known fact that I can't dance. At all. Ability = zero.

It's kind of sad too, because my parents invested in childhood dance lessons for but one of their got it - me. Such a waste. Well, not all is lost, I do have those puffy-sleeved, shiny kid leotards - all with matching tutus.

Haki isn't too shabby a dancer. By this, I mean that all those Techtonik tutorials he watches aren't a waste of time; it's kinda cute when he brushes imaginary crumbs from his shoulder-front to music; he can bust a move; he's pretty groovy. Baby E agrees. Suffice to say, he doesn't look gammy.

Haki likes it when I dance. The laughing-at-me thing never gets old. I'm pretty sure 10% of his energy in the first two years of our marriage was dedicated towards encouraging me to dance. For example, "Have you seen those new dance games at Timezone? I think they'd be really fun, Honey. Really fun. We should go do that. Come on. Come ooooon." I'll leave it to you to imagine my expression.

On one occasion, Haki succeeded in cloaking such an event as a FHE activity, and got me up on one of those dancing gizmos for all of one song. It wasn't pretty. Nor was Haki, however - looking like he was crying due to a hernia.

I remember exactly where we were when Haki announced the apparent solution to my dance disability; in the car, heading east by the hospital, sitting at a red light.

Haki: Honey, I've found something even you can do. It's called 'The Crank'.

From the driver's seat, he then demonstrates 'The Crank', as we sit, waiting for the light to change.

Haki: Now you do it.

I revved an invisible motorbike with a flick of my wrists, arms outstretched.

Haki: Apparently I was wrong.
Repeat hernia-crying /riotous laughter

I didn't want to "crank" anyway. Humph.

So Haki, you can crank...'n' stuff.

Where are your outdated, tiny shiny one-piece dancing costumes? Huh? Huh?

That's what I thought.
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