Just Dance

Do you know how to do the “Corn on the Cob?” It’s a dance. Have you been living under a rock? Actually, my 5-year-old daughter made it up during our dance party.  You march in place while pretending to eat corn on the cob. Obviously!

Sometimes you just have to let loose and shake your money maker on a circa 1987 linoleum floor. I didn’t anticipate having a drill sergeant for a dance partner. My daughter demanded, “You have  to do what I do!” She looked like a cross between Elaine from Seinfeld and Giggle Elmo. I tried to keep up with her quick changing routine. It’s difficult when you’re not a mind reader. So, I decided to do my own thing and began tweerking like any classy mother would. I am kidding. I did the Roger Rabbit. “It’s not free dance,” she scolded. I wasn’t allowed to express myself? I had to ask myself: ‘What would Kevin Bacon do?’ If he were here he would slam a cassette tape into the player and perform an angry solo dance in a warehouse.

Kevin Bacon wasn’t here. So, I had to follow “the man’s” orders. We ‘threw our hands in the air and waved them like we just didn’t care’ for about an hour. At one point, I stopped and just watched her. She giggled as she twirled around, her golden brown pony tail swinging from side to side. I wanted to savor the moment. ‘Remember this’ I thought to myself. I want to tell this story when she is a teenager and hates my guts. I don’t remember being her age. Hell, I forget to buy milk at the store even though it is written on a list I am holding in my hand. Will she remember we danced? She looked up at me lovingly and put her small hand in mine. Then, she chastised me for not dancing. “What are you doing? It’s not free dance!”