Two things about the preceding post.
One: I know I said I was dreading this wedding, and I was. But I'll be damned if I didn't have a great time. See, you lower your expectations to almost rock bottom and you're never disappointed.
Two: When I said that I was hoping there would be something blog-worthy about this wedding, I was hoping that someone would do something idiotic that i could then come home and write about in an entertaining sort of way. I didn't really expect that person to be me.
Here's the thing. I never dance at weddings. I leave my seat only for food, drink and bathroom reasons. I sit and watch other people jerking themselves around to really bad disco music and I enjoy the show. When the line dances come -the electric slide, macarena, what have you - I run for the door and hide outside lest one of my well meaning relatives tries to drag me into a monotonous, spastic-like dance.
I don't know what came over me, but I not only danced, but sang tonight. No, I didn't do the chicken dance or anything so droll. Prodded on by too many vodka & cranberries, I danced the night away to the super sounds of the 70's. The stuff I hated when I was in high school.
It started with Lipps, Inc.'s Funkytown. My cousin dragged be onto the dance floor and I went with it. Then it was Sly and the Family Stone's Dance to the Music. Donna Summer's I Feel Love. Rapper's Delight. When the Commodore's Brick House started up, I grabbed the microphone from my aunt and sang the entire song while doing an Elaine Bennis dance. Every once in a while I would spot Justin, pretending to talk to my cousins, but glancing my way with a real quizzical look on his face. He never saw this side of me before. He didn't know. No one knew.
I have gone from the girl who wore a "disco sucks" button through most of her adolescence to this woman who entertains her family by singing some of the worst songs to every hit a turntable. And enjoying it. There has got to be some kind of self-help group for this.
Won't you take me to....eh, nevermind.