Beware the Groove!

She walks to the laptop with great intensity. A shiny disc catches the light flowing in from her second-story window and splashes a rainbow on the wall opposite her bed. Upon reaching the computer, she slowly sits down into the leathery seat and carefully inserts the disc into a small compartment on the right side.

The disc spins and whirls until it reaches the correct RPM. Faint music escapes the speakers - clearly a volume that is not satisfactory. Adjustments are made and she hops into the adjacent bathroom to grab a round hairbrush just in time to scream:

"They told him don't you ever come around here, don't wanna see your face you better disappear! The fire's in their eyes and their words are really clear... So Beat It. Just Beat it!"

She hops on the bed, disheveling the pillows, and strikes a pose to accompany every "Beat It!" (four in total). The hairbrush is dropped on the third phrase, but she continues to dance. A "thumbs up" gesture now takes the role of microphone and the flailing continues. After four and a half minutes of moon walking, popping, and the occasional running man, she falls to the ground and allows perspiration to easily escape her pores.

***

This scene takes place in my bedroom at least 3 times week, if not more. At least 4 times a week you can find me singing and dancing in my car. The majority of the time innocent citizens in their cars parallel to me get a private performance. When I am not the driver of the car I like to roll down my window and serenade other drivers. The reactions are hilarious and I never have a camera handy. So, to the point of my post:

Dancing is dangerous.

Whenever I hear music I can't help but bob my head and shake it like a Polaroid picture. And whenever I get into the groove I always seem to hurt myself or someone else. (See previous post for the bus incident). The most common injury is a nice, green bruise, but on occasion blood gets jealous and decides to make an appearance. Even when I'm in the car, I still find something to smack my hand or forehead on. While this makes for great entertainment to the surrounding cars, I'm starting to look like a green-spotted cheetah. I would wear padding for protection, but I am still recovering from the mocking that came from wearing a helmet while playing chess (pointy bishops + sleep deprivation = impalement).

And I am not the only dangerous dancer out there folks. Hansel and the DJ have a break-dance fight in Zoolander, dizzy ballerinas are little weapons just waiting to kick nearby dancers. To finalize my point, let’s observe Night at the Roxbury. Haddaway and car windows simply do not mix.

Please dance with caution, everyone. You never know when that next Cabbage Patch will be your last.