Morning Dance Routine

My morning started pretty typically.  My tangled brunette hair (I’m being careful not to use the word tousled so as not to imply sexiness) stuck to my face as I wandered into the kitchen in my Frankenstein-like gait that always accompanied a good night’s rest.  I grumbled something to my husband to let him know I was still alive and began to make myself some breakfast.  I prefer to have a moment of peace in the morning before rushing to start my day.  There’s something very zen about it.  So, two hours of you-tube later, I was ready for my day to begin.

I decided to start by tidying up the house a bit.  The kitchen looked in disarray from last night’s meal.  It’s really hard to do the dishes after dinner when Netflix awaits you on the Xbox.  I strapped on my ipod and began my ritual cleaning duties as any healthy, functioning adult does every three months.

Naturally, I had to stop cleaning any time a good dancing song came on, which was pretty often as I had it tuned to my 80’s mix.  Needless to say this is not the most efficient way of cleaning, however I highly recommend it.  Aside from the fact that dancing is a great workout, it’s also an excellent boost to the ego.  The moment I attempted to moonwalk on my kitchen floor with a plate in one hand, a towel in the other, and my head banging to the rhythm of the righteous electric guitar, I knew I was a badass.

I often contemplate videotaping these dance sessions as I’m fairly certain well known artists would pay good money to learn some of my moves.  I grew up without the luxury of MTV so I’m pretty confident my efforts are unique to say the least.  I’m particularly proud of a flittering hand movement of mine that I try to incorporate into every performance.  The only way to describe it is a Parkinson’s patient trying to emulate a little birdie flying away.  Really, it’s gold.

You’re probably wondering what selfless, saint-like soul was willing to marry me.  Well, it’s a long story but the important thing is we are living a full and happy life.  In my defense, he did say he was having a good time on that first date before I slipped the potion into his drink.

Meanwhile, it was getting near noon and I still had yet to shower.  I don’t believe in showering before cleaning; it’s like dressing up to go to a gay bar.  What’s the point?  So not only did I have the pale, bloated face of someone who just woke up, but I was drenched in sweat from the morning’s dance workout.  My hair resembled that of a country music star ready to receive her award circa 1991.  My excellent choice of pajamas (men’s shorts and gray t-shirt I got at a gift shop in Canada) portrayed my passion for style and demonstrated my belief in fashion over comfort.  I knew my breath must have been awful because even my dog wouldn’t kiss me.  This coming from the same animal that likes to roll in dead things and eat feces.  I’m not going to lie, it kind of hurt.  Maybe it’s time for another ego-boosting dance session.

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