Dork dancing

No matter how I try when I dance I look like a stork that is wigged out on chili powder...or crack. I am not one for meter or rhythm and my body awareness is severely taxed when I attempt to get my tushie into the chair in front of my desk. It has wheels, you know. I shot a video for viewing by the church recently and the pastor who taped the video actually asked me if I could moon walk. In an attempt to silence the shrieks laughter in my head I just shook my head and offered this assessment of my capabilities: "Not really, no." But I can dork dance.

Oh my can I dork dance.

No one has ever said to me "Man I love to watch you move" as I attempted to dance. The fast dances that I performed in Junior High and High school were largely for comedic value. They were laughing at me, but that was all right. I knew that my date wasn't with me for my looks or dancing. I just had to resist the temptation of making her laugh so hard that her soda would come out of her nose. Good thing we didn't drink while we danced because that surely would have happened. Because I can dork dance.

Oh my can I dork dance.

And, no, you can't see it. That is for my wife only. And, interestingly enough, she hasn't asked to see it recently. Or ever.

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