To me, dancing is one of those magical things about life.
People don’t cry when they dance fast. They don’t argue. And they sure can’t possibly pout while shaking their booties.
If you don’t believe me, try to express any negative emotions while grooving along with your favorite band. It is impossible.
Dancing is a mood changer, and it makes stress fade away. That’s one reason why I try to dance every day, especially on Sundays. It ends the weekend on a positive note and starts the week with a happy feeling.
I also love a crowded dance floor. Great music and dancing brings people together in their best moments, with laughter and smiles. You can’t tell me that’s not magic.
Anyway, here’s the first bad thing. I was so crazy excited to go dancing with my friends that for some dumb reason I decided – right in the middle of dusting my living room – that I wanted to see if I could twerk. Now I am 57 with a hind end that you could show a movie on. I had absolutely no intention of doing this in public. I just wanted to investigate. I am known for doing stupid stuff, as you know.
For those of you who are novice twerkers, it is necessary to bow your back and kind of imagine that you are trying to hit the back of your head with your butt.
One and one-half twerks later, I pulled something in my back. I worried that my spleen might just fall out. I threw the dust rag and hobbled to the kitchen for a bag of ice to nurse my wound.
I am now a retired twerker.
The second bad thing is that my wrist is broken from my recent roller-skating mishap. I have never gone dancing with a big splint on my arm. I didn’t initially think it would be a problem.
Well, I was wrong about that too.
On the dance floor I was smashed like a sardine with 700 other enthusiast dancers.
If I held my arm up in the air, it kind of felt like I was waiting on a raven to fly in out of nowhere and perch on top of my bandages.
When I tried to just pretend I didn’t have a splint, I ended up accidentally poking a kidney on another dancer. All right fine, it happened more than once.
It didn’t help matters when one of my friends said that, from a certain angle, I actually looked more like I had a claw instead of a splint.
So yes, the splint definitely messed with my mo Jo.
My third stress is that I hate to wear shoes at any time anyway. And I absolutely refuse to wear shoes when I go dancing.
My obsession with hating footwear causes me great stress because I absolutely cannot manage to ever find my shoes again after I walk off the dance floor barefoot.
It is impossible to find a pair of black shoes in a dimly lit area.
So I repeatedly found myself snooping under 1,400 legs to find my shoes.
No matter how many not-so-fun moments occurred, I got to meet Facebook friends that I have loved for years. I actually got to see them in person. Kiss their sweet faces. Put my arms around them! I can’t tell you how much my heart smiled.
One of those sweet Facebook friends talked to me a lot, late at night, while I was going through breast cancer and could not sleep. She made me laugh when I sure didn’t think anything was funny. I have loved her dearly for a long, long time.
Getting to hug Shaune was worth all the other hassles!
Sherri Coner is an award-winning journalist and humor writer who speaks to women’s groups. To learn about her books for women and to join her on Facebook, visit www.sherriconer.com.